


Record of a Life Lived

by PinkPunk010



Series: The Chronicles of The Oakdean-Smiths [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Adoption, Clara as the Doctor's daughter, Everyone is related, Family, Family Shenanigans, Future, Human AU, Multi, One-Shots, Past, everyone is human, present
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-01-13 00:40:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 29,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21235265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkPunk010/pseuds/PinkPunk010
Summary: The point of life was to live it, and they had. They had loved, they had fought, they had won and they had lost.Snapshots of the Oakdean-Smith family before, during and after A Child's Perspective Human AU





	1. Promise?

**Author's Note:**

> I said I wasn't going to do a full length story with these dorks, but this isn't a story, it's a collection of one-shots of varying lengths and out of order. In this collection, River isn't always dead. I basically wanted to write more about Missy and River's relationship, and Missy's relationship with her parents etc.

"If you keep pulling that face it'll stay that way," Missy drawled, dropping down to sit next to her little sister on the ledge. "Especially if the wind changes."

River, in response, pulled an exaggerated face, before her face morphed back into the carefully constructed mask she wore around the world. Missy snorted and swung her legs out. 

"So why'd you run off here then?" Missy asked, sniffing in distaste and the quite frankly boring view in front of them, of rooftops and industrial sized waste bins. "It stinks up here."

River liked it because it was quiet and because she was the only one who knew the way up. It was a place to think. She'd forgotten that her older sister would know where to find her. She was just glad Missy cared enough to look. 

When River didn't reply beyond a crooked shoulder, Missy huffed, re-adjusting her shirt under the jumper, her hand disapparing down her shirt to adjust her bra straps. 

"Seriously Riv, what's up?" She tried again, sounding less like the Missy she pretended to be and more like the Missy River had grown up with in that awful group home and later once they'd been adopted. "You've been quiet for days. It's unnerving. Mum's worried and dad is pretending he's not, but he is and you know what it's like when dad frets."

River contemplated how to frame her answer for a moment or two. Missy let her. 

"You're both going to the same place," She said finally, looking away from her sister. "You get to say together…and I'm still waiting to take my bloody GCSEs."

Missy made a small "oh" of understanding and shifted her leg up so she could rest her chin on her knee.

"Personally I think you're better off," Missy replied matter of factly. "You get mum and dad to cook and clean and love you. And I get John. I'd trade you in a heartbeat."

"No you wouldn't," River smiled sadly. "It's just… I don't know. Everything will change."

"Everything's already changing, that's the way things are meant to be," Missy reminded her gently. "And we aren't going far. England isn't all that big you know."

River just shrugged again, picking at a loose thread in her shorts. 

"And you'll visit," MIssy floundered a little. She hadn't anticipated River taking their leaving so hard and she was suprised by how little she had even thought about how it would affect them. River had always been younger than them, but she'd also always been the third part of their trio, winding in and out as she desired. 

"It won't be the same," River replied simply. And she was right. It would't. How could it be? They wouldn't be in adjacent rooms any more, with John just a quick trot around the corner. They were growing up and it hit them of the sheer inevitability of it all.

"Probably not," Missy conceeded, "But maybe it'll be better. We can't stay the same, you know that. And… I want to go to university River. And I'm going to miss you terribly because you're my annoying brat of a little sister but… I'm excited about going. And in a few years, you'll be going somewhere new as well."

"I know all that," River insisted, and Missy believed her. River did know all of this, but sometimes you couldnt't help how you felt even in the face of irrefutable facts. At heart, they were both little kids who'd been abandoned. There were some wounds Amy and Rory hadn't quite been able to heal. "It just feels like the beginning of the end. Like, you and John going off to uni now and before we know it you two are married and have kids and -"

Missy interrupted her sister to throw her head back and bark out a laugh. "Can you imagine John and I getting married?!" She scoffed. "Bloody hell we'd kill each other before we got to alter!" 

River turned away, an eyebrow raised in disbelief that her sister couldn't see. 

"We aren't kids anymore," Missy pointed out. "So in a way, yes, this is an ending and a beginning. It'll be what we make of it I suppose. And you're not going to be alone here, you've got your friends and all our family. And I'll be back, every holiday and probably plenty of times between. And it's not like John and I are going to do the same thing, we won't have lectures together and we aren't living together. God, we'd murder each other before the week was out and you know it. Can you picture it?!"

River couldn't help but smile as the image popped into her head of Missy and John, as they always had been but sharing a smaller space. It would be great reality TV. It made sense, but she didn't want to admit that to River. She was only thirteen, what did she know of the world? The answer for both of them was too much, though they pretended otherwise. 

"You'll still be my sister River," Missy said gently, looping an arm around the (still) smaller girl and pulling her into a sideways hug, making a show of spitting River's curls out of her mouth. "Nothing is going to change that.'

"Promise?"

"Promise."


	2. School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy and Rory want to adopt River, and Missy is resigned to that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had already written this when I saw the comment from Takan_Morfin_Riddle_Lestrange on the last chapter! I wanted to do a time jump piece of Missy and River being adopted. 
> 
> River is 8, Missy is 13 by the end of the piece.

The Home didn't really care if you went to school or not so long as you were there enough not to cause them any scrutiny. For her part, Missy had quite liked school. But other children hadn't much liked her. Her clothes were fourth or fifth hand by the time they got to her, ragged and faded and clearly marking her as one of Those Kids. 

She, like all of them, had a hard time making friends. Kids with parents who cared would remind their offspring not to mingle with the Home kids and there was a wealth of opportunity for snide comments and fast fists being exchanged. It had been easier when John was there with her, but Sarah-Jane was old enough now and had enough money for the Home to let John spend more than weekends with her. He had been offically adopted, and gone two counties over to live in a village with Sarah-Jane. 

John had told Missy that Sarah's boyfriend had been trying to be friendly and that it was weird, but he was glad Sarah had found someone who could accept their shitshow. Missy wished she had been allowed to go as well. But Sarah wasn't allowed, and besides, she couldn't leave River. River was seven and causing seven different levels of hell over at the infant base as it was. 

She liked the classes, and the look of suprise on he teachers faces when they realised that she was reasonably clever under the scuffed and unwanted exterior. She liked proving them wrong. The librarians didn't quite trust her not to steal and burn the books, but they didn't watch her like a hawk as they did the other Home residents. She'd gotten good at managing school - a haughty look, a glint in her eye, a challenge few wanted to take up. 

Then Amy and Rory Williams had arrived. They were a fairly young couple, younger than the usual prospective parents shown into the common room. Both of them were tall, taller than most people Missy had seen, and one with the reddest hair. 

They had heard about the Home from their new neighbour Sarah-Jane. Missy had been paraded out with the other twelve year olds, followed by the older children and preceeded by the younger. She didn't expect anything of it. Everyone knew that they went for the younger kids. Fewer bad habits to break, one of the counsellors had said. And Missy knew, at twelve, that she wasn't pretty enough or sensible enough for people to take a risk on. She had a file in the councellors office a bible thick of misdemeanors and things they couldn't quite prove she had done.

So she was suprised when Mr and Mrs Williams came back the following week, asking if they could join her and River's game of catch in the garden. She surmised they were there for River, and refused to be anything but herself. The following weekend, while raining, Amy offered her a book. It was brand new with a glossy cover and was about space adventurers and cobbling together solutions. She'd taken it suspiciously, but new books were nonexistent at the Home, and she had guarded her treasure fiercer than any dragon over a crock of gold. 

They came back. Week after week, progressing from playing games in the garden to taking them out for lunch or for bowling. Always the two of them. Missy wondered when they would take River away, and if they would let her visit when they did. River had been her responsibility for over two years by that point, and it would be hard to see her go. 

Amy helped her with her English homework one evening, while Rory sat very seriously playing Operation! with River on the floor. Missy had wondered if that was what it felt like to have a mother, as Amy explained plot devices in her set text with a far greater enthusiasm than her own English teacher had been able to muster. River was lucky, she decided, to have people like this and Missy wasn't going to do anything to put River's future in jeapordy. She stopped being quite so sullen, she stopped glaring at them when they arrived. 

"Did you like the book Amy gave you?" Rory asked one afternoon, supervising Missy climbing the tree in the park. She wasn't used to someone supervising. Missy said she had. Rory had looked pleased, but carried on the conversation asking what books she usually read and what books she wanted to read and if there were any he could get her. Missy told him bluntly that giving them things meant other kids would steal from them, so no thank you. She had enough trouble keeping her hands on the "Mad Man in a Box". He'd looked shocked, and Missy 

By the time that Saturday came around, Missy and River were used to going out with them. They were already up and dressed and doing a puzzle in the common room when Amy and Rory came in, their councellor hovering uncomfortably in the doorway. They looked nervous, and Missy's heart sank. 

"Would you allow us to foster you, with the intent to adopt?" Amy asked bluntly. Missy liked that about Amy, she was always upfront. 

"Really?" River asked hopefully, tucking herself into Missy's side, not daring to really believe it.

"Really," Rory had smiled, and River had beamed.

"Yes!" River accepted gleefully, leaning forward with all the exuberance of an eight year old girl to hug him. She'd always been better at hugging than Missy.

Missy pressed her lips together to stop herself from crying, already missing River's vibrant personality. She turned back to the puzzle and tried to force a piece into a space. 

"Missy?" Rory asked hesitantly, passing River off to Amy to sit on the opposite side of the table. 

"Will you let me visit?" Missy asked the puzzle quietly, missing the look of confusion that Amy and Rory shared over her bowed head. 

"Missy," Amy started slowly, in her no-nonsense this is the truth tone of voice Missy appreciated because it wasn't mean like the councellors. "We were asking both of you. We'd like to adopt River _and_ you."__

_ _Missy froze, lifting her head up slowly to frown at them suspiciously. _ _

_ _"Both of us?" She asked skeptically. Amy nodded._ _

_ _"We wouldn't seperate you," Amy reassured her. But it didn't reassure Missy all that much, instead her stomach swooped and she realised that they wouldn't want to upset River by taking her away from Missy so they were taking Missy as well. "So, how about it kid?" Amy continued. "You ok with that?"_ _

_ _Missy glanced from Amy to Rory to River, who seemed to have caught on that Missy wasn't all that happy and had squirmed off Amy's lap to park herself next to Missy. Her eyes were bright and shining with the hope and excitement that the Home hadn't managed to grind out of her yet._ _

_ _"We can have parents Missy!" She whispered excitedly, "We'll be real sisters!"_ _

_ _And Missy could never leave River behind, so she nodded over at Rory, not trusting herself to speak. She may have been twelve but she knew that tears were for babies and idiots and were a sign of weakness. _ _

_ _Amy and Rory had smiled, and River had beamed, but Missy had just turned back to her puzzle. She was cynical enough to believe that it wouldn't last, or it wouldn't happen, or they would decide to just take River to truly be happy at the turn of events._ _

_ _It was a slow process. The two girls were allowed to stay at the Williames on Saturday night, and Missy re-evalutated the benefits of the situation when she realised that John was a sprint around the corner away from her foster parents. Missy found out that Amy was a writer, and had to resist the urge to blabber senselessly at her about it. She was given her own room, and told she could decorate it however she wished! She left it plain, having never had much imagination for decoration as River hung fairy lights and painted her walls a vibrant blue and asked for a patchwork quilt. _ _

_ _They arrived on Saturday afteroon with their bags and their books, and Rory took her aside and showed her the new set of bookshelves in her room, painted a deep purple. Then he'd left, not saying anything. The first thing Missy put on her shelves was Amy's gift of "Mad Man In A Box". The week after, they had their scant few personal belongings packed into a single rucksack between them, had waved goodbye to the other kids at the Home (none of whom Missy had any resolve to see again) and Amy and Rory had offically fostered them. _ _

_ _Amy had taken them both clothes shopping seperately, filling up their chests of drawers with more clothes than Missy had ever possessed in her life. Towards the end of summer, Rory had taken them school uniform shopping (declaring to Amy later that day that they would be splitting the privilige for the next school year). River twirled in her new school uniform, marvelling at the brightness of the green of her summer dress. Missy wasn't sure she wanted to wear such a clean uniform with such a new smell, but she was starting school on Monday and she didn't have a choice. _ _

_ _Her old school had been rubbish but familiar. Now she was the New Kid in a nice enough school in a brand new uniform where everyone would know she was adopted. She already hated it. But when Monday morning made its inevitable appearence, she found Amy swearing over the oven attempting to cook bacon and ten minutes later John had knocked on the door so enthusiastically he grazed his knuckle on the knocker. She'd forgotten that John would be going to her new school, and that cheered her up greatly. _ _

_ _"Come on!" He'd said impatiently as Missy finished her slightly charred bacon sandwich, his own plate long emptied. "We gotta get going or we'll be late!"_ _

_ _Rory chuckled into his mug of tea as Amy wrestled River's hair into a ponytail. _ _

_ _"School doesn't start till 8:30," Missy pointed out, chewing slower just to wind him up. He looked at her askance. _ _

_ _"What are you talking about? If we don't leave now we won't get to pick up iced buns with Alistair on the way in," He said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Harry gave me the money because it's the first day of school, and first days of school deserve a treat."_ _

_ _"They do?" Missy asked skeptically, washing down the burnt bits of her bacon with orange juice. _ _

_ _"Yep," Amy said seriously, sliding a pound towards Missy, "Go crazy kid."_ _

_ _Missy had never had people care before, and she didn't know what to do. _ _

_ _"If we don't go now, they'll have sold out at the bakery," John said impatiently, all gangly limbs of a thirteen year old growing into his full height and the appetite to go with it. "Are you done yet?"_ _

_ _Missy grinned, and nodded, crushing her new coat into her new rucksack as she stood. _ _

_ _"Missy," Amy called when they reached the door. They turned, impatient to go, "Have a good day at school."_ _

_ _Had anyone every wished her a good day at school? She didn't think so. Missy smiled at them, following John out of the door with a "See you later!" called over her shoulder. _ _

_ _Later that day, she ate lunch with John and his friend Alistair, introducing them to Allison Vastra, a girl from her Literature class, and she decided that maybe school really wasn't all that bad after all._ _


	3. Trampoline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of the ideas that I came up with from D_f_m22 on "maybe John/Missy/River when they were younger"
> 
> So John and Missy are about 16, River is 11

River swung her arms out and jumped. Her hair streamed out in coils behind her, eyes closed. A second later, she landed on the side of the trampoline, rocketing John from his snoozing position into the air and thudding onto the ground. 

River laughed, a mischeviously gleeful laugh, as John's tousled head appeared over the edge of the trampoline, his eyebrows doing the glowering thing. 

"Bit of warning would have been nice," he roused, climbing back up easier than either of the two young women could, as he was significantly taller than either of them could ever hope to be. 

"Wouldn't have been nearly as fun," River teased, lounging down against the black material that made up the trampoline. John sneered at her, and then cast a wary eye out for Missy, just in case she was planning to catch him out as well. "Miss is on the wall," River added, seeing John's eyes seeking out his best friend.

"Don't you bloody dare," John called, tilting his head back up to look at her. They were sixteen, all curves and edges and playful children pretending to be adults. 

"What you gone do?" Missy taunted him, swinging her legs from her position on the wall. She raised a challenging eyebrow and bit into the liquorice wand she'd bought at the corner shop. 

John's eyes narrowed. 

"Declaration made," River announced, rolling onto her stomach to see how this played out. She was eleven, her face starting to lengthen and finally loose the baby-faced aspect that had reminded everyone just how many years were between her and her elder sister. 

Missy's lips quirked. 

They all knew that John could reach the top of the wall from the trampoline easily enough. Both combatants were coiled, ready to move as soon as the other did. John was attempting to glower fiercely, but fighting back a smile, Missy was full on ready to 

They were both so focused on each others every move that they weren't watching River, and she was ready to make her allegiance know. Moving slowly enough not to attract attention, she pounced on John, pinning him down as much as she was able.

"Run Missy!" River shrieked as John jolted back and started trying to escape her grip. Missy didn't waste any time, - she swung her legs over the wall and took off like there was a herd of buffalo after her, laughing manically all the while. Determined to do her part, River wrapped her arms and legs around John's torso, giggling as he swore and tried to peel her off. That only tightened her grip. 

Instead, he just wiggled her sideways enough that he was effectively giving her a piggy back and took off as fast as he was able with the added weight of a River, towards the stream, where they both knew Missy would have climbed a tree like the cat she was at heart. 

But, River realised a little too late, John wasn't heading for the trees, he was running straight towards the water.

"No!" River was laughing uncontrollably by this point. She'd missed this kind of nonsense since Missy and John had gotten too grown up to play as much. "Missy! Save me!"

"Oi!" Missy yelled, high up in the tree as expected, swinging down. "You drop my sister right now you bastard!"

John only smiled and carried onto the jump pool, where the stream was wide enough and deep enough for swimming on the hottest days of summer. Missy was too far away, and John was moving too fast for River to just let go. 

Not without some timing that is. It would be worth the bumps and grazes. She waited until he would have no option to continue into the water, and then she just - let go. 

She dropped to the ground with a thud and rolled several times, before pushing herself up and running in the opposite direction, back towards her sister. In the background, she heard the splash as John submerged to the waist in Spring-cold water without his extra passenger. 

"Rude!" He yelled, wading out of the stream thoroughly soaked through his jeans. He advanced on them, arms outstretched, and Miss and River wasted no time in running away, Missy pulling her smaller sister through the grass and towards safety. 

Days like that were getting rarer. Missy and John were sixteen, taking their final exams before sixth form and they were always working. Time was racing every forward, towards a time when River was still a child and her best friends in the world would be grown ups. But that wasn't today. Today they were three almost-children racing around the park and having fun.


	4. Positive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy find out she is pregnant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just another short one, on Missy finding out she is pregnant

She knew what it was going to say before she'd even looked. Her periods may not have been the most reliable or painless transactions since she was thirteen and they first started, but they had never been this conspicuously absent before. 

And of course, there was the fact that she and John had, for want of a better word, fucked, only eight weeks beforehand. It had been an angry transaction, all teeth and pain and fighting for dominance. She couldn't deny that it had been good, but she hadn't spoken to John since he'd stormed into her room the next morning demanding she stay there, in the small town she'd found so restricting. 

Plus she'd suddenly gone off coffee and her favourite perfume smelt like acid. Not to mention, she didn't feel quite right. She couldn't put it into words, but something about her body felt alien to her. And if she was right, it was alien. Her body wasn't nuturing for crying out loud. What the ever loving fuck would she do with a baby? 

She hoped, rather than believed the test would be negative. 

Her timer bleeped. 

She looked over at the tissue wrapped sticks. Two pink lines on one. A pink cross on another. 

Well shit. 

Hours later, Missy had near enough paced a hole into the carpet, trying to work out what to do. Getting rid of it seemed the most logical solution, she could pretend none of this had ever happened and noone would ever be the wiser. She would... be lying. 

She remembered her younger sister, the one she'd taught how to climb a tree and how to make sure matches didn't burn your fingers and helped when boys broke her heart. She remembered River calling her in the middle of the night, voice slurred from alcohol and pain. Missy had climbed into her car and driven over despite the late hour and that she had work in the morning. 

River had been curled up on the floor in front of her flat's bookcase, mascara in rivulets down her face, eyes vacant. Missy had cleaned her up, plied her with water, and demanded an explaination. 

"I can't have children," She'd said simply. Missy hadn't quite understood why that was necessarily a bad thing, adoption had given them a home hadn't it? It hadn't stopped Amy and Rory from becoming parents despite Amy's fertility problems. But River had alwasy wanted a baby that she'd grown herself. Missy thought, on her less charitable days, that she saw it as a way of fixing what had happened to them. She would birth a child and, more importantly, keep it. 

So Missy had slid into bed next to her sister and held her as she cried herself to sleep, a dream put in a box in the ground. A few days later, she had reminded River of the options, but that wasn't the time, and she wasn't quite heartless. 

If River ever found out she'd gotten rid of a baby, John's baby, she would never forgive her. She probably wouldn't be best impressed either way, she and John were the definition of On Again Off Again. Or one of those relationships where both were quite happy with the other having relationships elsewhere. 

Missy paused, an alternative solution presenting itself. She knew that John and River had been "on" again the week after she'd disappeared to London to get ready for her trip to America. They were "off" again now but …

Missy reached for her phone, dialling her sisters familiar number before she could second guess herself. 

"River?" She said "I need you to come."

She didn't say more than that, knew the quaver in her voice would have River reaching for the car keys, as it would for her. 

"Don't tell John where I am," She added, as River asked for her address, told her she would be several hours yet. What was it about?

River paused then, but agreed. They may have been a trio once, but cracks are hard to mend when all you have is brown paper. 

Missy put the phone down, and her head on her knees. Somehow she had sunk down against the wall. 

Holy fuck she was pregnant.


	5. Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara spends some time in the garden with her daddy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wifi has been a bit hit and miss for me. 
> 
> Anyway, Clara is at the Why Stage of early childhood so she's about 3 or 4 here.

Clara kicked her heels against the grass, admiring the shine on her shoes and the bright pink tights she had on. She was distracted a moment later by the appearence of a bird in the tree above her. It cocked its head, staring down at her lying on the grass. Clara giggled and copied it. A moment later, the bird flew off. 

"Daddy?" She asked, twisting so she could see her father stretched out on the grass as well, his head near hers and his long long legs stretching further away.

"Yes Clara," Daddy said back, not moving. 

"Why do birds fly?"

"They have places to be," daddy replied. Clara could see he was smiling. She smiled as well. 

"Why don't they drive a car?" She continued, looking back up to the bird. 

"Because they don't have hands,"

"Why don't they have hands?"

"Because they have wings."

"Why do they have wings?"

"So they can fly."

"Daddy!" Clara laughed, shuffling to launch herself across her father's chest. 

"Clara!" Daddy wheezed.

"Why do birds fly?" She held out her arms, as daddy lifted her into the air so she could fly too. 

"So they can see the world from high up in the trees," Daddy grinned, swooping her through the air. She was a bird, flying through the trees, high up in the top branches where daddy said they built their birds nests and had their eggs. 

"Why do they want to stay in the trees?" She laughed.

"Because it's there home," daddy said quietly, pulling Clara into a hug. She let him, daddy needed a hug for some reason and she was more than happy to help. "And they fly to go home. Just like we have legs that let us walk back home. And hands that let us drive cars. Birds fly because they don't live like people, and they see the world from the sky. They'd get lost if they stayed on the ground, wouldn't they? They wouldn't know how to get back to their nests if they had to follow human roads, would they?"

Clara thought about this very seriously. She didn't want the birds to get lost on the roads. She'd gotten lost once. She'd kicked the ball over a fence, and when she'd run around to find it, she couldn't remember how to get back to nanny's. She'd sat on the curb and waited with her ball until daddy had appeared. 

"Birds fly so they don't get lost," She said slowly, puzzling it all out. Daddy laughed, sitting up and plonking Clara in his lap. 

"Close enough," he chuckled. Clara nodded firmly. It wasn't quite the answer she was looking for, but it would do. 

"Daddy," she realised suddenly, "Why can't I fly? If I could fly, then I wouldn't get lost ever again!"

Daddy laughed again.

"One day, Clara, you may be able to fly. In a plane. We don't have wings of our own so we have to build them, then we can fly," He sounded so sure, and Clara decided there and then that one day she would learn to fly like the birds. She promptly forgot several minutes later when daddy stood up and asked if she wanted a sneaky biscuit before mummy got home from work.

Many years later, Clara remembered the feeling of flying as her dad swooped her into the air. She'd long been too big, and he too old for such antics, but the feeling lingered. Clara smiled at the camera, her mum and sister on one side, her dad on the other as nana took yet another photograph of her holding up her aviation certificate. 

"Legally allowed to drive, bike and now fly," Mum said drily, "God help us all."

"You need to learn to sail now," Skye added happily "Then you'll have a proper collection."

Clara laughed, and then nudged her dad's shoulder.

"Hey, dad?" She asked. He hummed that he was paying attention. "Why do birds fly?"

She watched as her dad's cheeks turned sharp as he smiled broadly, no doubt remembering an unremarkale afternoon, and unremarkable conversation with his child so very long ago.

"Because they have places to be."


	6. Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River turns up on John's doorstep with an infant and no explaination

It was late, not that John had been paying attention. As a recently hired lecturer after several years occupying a research and TA position at the Institute, he was, as per his usual evenings, going over PhD research papers and results, trying to help craft the stupid young minds to better things. 

For all he grumbled and moaned, he actually quite liked helping the students, but only the decent ones. He'd rather chew his own ear off than help a dickhead student looking for an easy way out of working. But hardworking students genuinely interested, he'd give their essays a more thorough review just to give them a hand. Academia was hard enough as it was. 

He though he'd imagined the knock at first. It was raining, and the neighbours cat had taken to butting its head against his door when its owner wouldn't let him in. He switched his lamp on, adjusted his glasses and carried on reading, pencil scratching against paper blending with the gentle thud of rain on the open window. 

But then there was a knock, definately a knock. A firm _rat-a-tat-tat_ of a knock. John looked at the clock in confusion. Who the hell was calling on him at eleven twenty at night for crying out loud? It wasn't like Missy or River were currently talking to him. And his mum always called first, if she needed him to watch the kids while she chased a lead and dad was on a nigh shift.__

_ _He stood up, his back clicking after so long spent hunched over his desk. The person at the door knocked again, a little more insistently this time. He grumbled, shuffling his way through the flat to the door. _ _

_ _"I'm coming, I'm coming," he muttered to himself, swinging the door open without checking the peephole. "What?" He demanded, and then froze, wishing he really had checked the peephole. _ _

_ _River was standing in front of him, seveal bags proped up against the door, hunched over against the rain, wild curls tucked up under her hood. _ _

_ _"Hello John," she said a little faux confidently. "Any room at the inn?"_ _

_ _He gaped. _ _

_ _"River?" He asked, once he'd rediscovered his voice and his latent anger. "What the fuck are you doing here?" _ _

_ _"I'd really rather not do this on your doorstep," River said pointedly. "May we come in?"_ _

_ _John had stepped aside and allowed her entry, leaning out to drag in the final bag she hadn't been able to carry with a single arm, before he registered what she said. _ _

_ _"Wait, we?" He turned around confused - just as River pushed her cape-like coat aside to reveal the tightly wrapped up reason she was only using one arm. He watched, slightly dumfounded as River moved aside part of the blanket roll she was rocking and smiled down at it. _ _

_ _"Yes," She replied, slightly sheepishly. "Me and Clara, that is..."_ _

_ _"And who's Clara?" He felt ice sliding down his throat to his stomach, bolting the door behind them both. He dreaded the words he knew would be out of his ex-something's mouth, and feared them. _ _

_ _"Your daughter," River held the bundle - which was apparently a fucking _baby_ \- towards him slightly, revealing a tiny face, fast asleep with a shock of almost black hair pressed against her forehead. "She fell asleep on the bus. If I'd known that was the secret to getting her to sleep, I'd have been bussing round Glasgow like my life depended on it!"___ _

_ _ _ _She laughed a little, faltering when John raised his eyes to look at her in disbelief. He was sure his eyebrows were doing a sufficent job to convey his…mixed emotions. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _How dare River turn up like this, in the middle of the _fucking_ night, after scarecly a fucking _word_ for fucking _months_, tell him he has a daughter and then laugh? He took a deep breath. _______ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"If you're going to yell at me," River interjected before he could so much as breath out a word, "Let me put Clara somewhere to sleep. Trust me, she may look small and cute right now but she's got a set of lungs on her to rival a foghorn. I'd prefer our argument didn't wake her."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _John pressed his lips together, jerking his head in permission or agreement or whatever. River turned and walked deeper into the flat, the baby (the baby!) in her arms. She returned a moment later sans baby and he was able to think again. She pulled her hat off, and her coat, hanging both up on the hook and then walking confidently into the living room. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"I've put her in your study chair," River informed him calmly. "It's futhest from here. She shouldn't wake."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _John frowned, didn't babies roll? He vaugely remembered trying to keep a young Rosie in one place while he was a teenager, a little peeved that his mum and dad had left him looking after something that moved. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"She's two weeks old, John," River seemed to be doing that trick of hers where she read his mind, "She can't even hold her head up independently yet."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"Two weeks old?" He asked faintly, feeling that anger resurface, bubbling up. "She yours then?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _River flinched. He took that for confirmation, nodding slowly. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"And not once, not once, in that last what, nine months and two weeks, did you think to call me up and say 'oh, hey John, just thought I'd let you know we're having a fucking baby'. Oh no," his arms flailed, his vowels running together as they always did when he was mightly ticked off. "No, instead you just turn up, out of the blue and say 'oh, hey John, here is an actual breathing baby that is apparently yours."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _River's eyes turned sharp. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"Apparently yours?" She hissed, angry herself now. He felt she had no right to be angry. She wasn't the one who'd had a baby and an unexpected visit from an old friend sprung on him in one night. "You think I'd lie about something like that? I can't believe you."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _John wanted to doubt her, but the genuine hurt in her eyes had a little of the anger abating. River wouldn't lie about something like this. If the baby wasn't his she'd have said outright. She wasn't that deceptive. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"No," he admitted, "You'd be on some other buggers doorstep if it wasn't my kid."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"Clara," River prompted frostily. "Her name is Clara."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"Oh, I'm sorry for forgetting the name of the child I only found out existed _five seconds ago_," he said sarcastically. "Seriously. Why the hell didn't you call me sooner than this?"___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _River sighed, looked away and folded her hands neatly in her lap before she turned back to him. He gave her the time to collect herself - it had better be a bloody good reason. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"I was on a dig," She started, and faltered at a look from him. She flushed. A dig? that was seriously her excuse for not telling him? "I went up to Glasgow for work, you know that. We er, disagreed about it. I… didn't find out about her for far longer than you would probably think. You know I thought I wouldn't be able to have children, so Clara was… well I was worried that she wouldn't actually get to be mine. So I kept her a secret in case anything went wrong. I didn't want to have to face people knowing that I'd…lost her."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She glanced back at her hands. He could see the tears in her eyes and felt a stab of anger at them, as well as a little remorse. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"I'm not anyone, River," He said quietly, "I'm not people. I'm the father and you should have told me."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"Anyway," River continued briskly, "I didn't tell anyone - at all - about Clara, and then I was so caught up in keeping a newborn alive and finishing up my work in Glasgow that... I thought it would be easier if I showed up with the evidence, so to speak. I didn't think you'd believe me if I called at that point. I came straight here - I wanted you to know before mum and dad. Don't worry, I'm not staying the night. As soon as we're done talking I'll take her to my parents for another fun conversation. They'll be angry I didn't tell them either."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He noticed she kept reiterating that she hadn't told anyone. Anyone at all. He didn't believe her._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"Missy," he filled in for her. "You told Missy."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Of course she told her sister. They may have been adopted and loved but they were still the first (and sometimes) only one the other turned to in times of trouble. River flushed a mottled red. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"Don't talk to me about Missy," River said, her voice low and icy. John stared at her. He'd never heard her this mad at anyone, let alone her sister. He'd revisit that another day. He was not adding sister drama to his current plate, which was quite full enough with a fucking baby thanks. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"Okay," he shrugged, bigger fish and all that, "But Missy knew. And now you're here, with a baby and what? You expect us all to be okay with the fact you lied for goddam months River? Because - newsflash - not okay. Really not ok!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _River took a deep breath. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"I know it's not ok," She said calmly. "I'm not expecting it to be ok overnight. But I didn't want her to have the uncertainty that we all faced. I want Clara to know her family, her father. I'm not expecting us to play happy bloody families, but I would like you to… be Clara's father."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"Oh, so now I get to be a part of her life?" He asked sardonically, "Gee, thanks for that. Tell me, are you going to decide in a few weeks you want to do it alone?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _River stood up. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"I'll be at my parents with Clara when you want to talk custody and visitation," she said sharply and John knew he'd gone just a little too far. However justifed it felt, he shouldn't have said that. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"River," he sighed, running a hand across his face. "You should have told me. And I'll be all in. You know I will. But jesus bloody christ you should have told me."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"Hindsight is a wonderful thing," she replied, "But I will be off now. Clara's due a feed and I want to get to mum and dads before she wakes up. Can you call me a taxi?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He may have been angry at her, angrier than words could suffice, but he wasn't going to let River and a child (his child) go out into the rain and into a taxi. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"Go get Clara," he said tiredly, standing up. "I'll drive you."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	7. Bookshop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once a month, Missy and John take River to Gallifrey's bookshop to spend their pocket money. It's something Mr Copper looks forward to

Bookshops were a rare place where all three of them could find something to entertain themselves. Bookshops and libraries that is. But being Amy Williams daughters meant that they often felt the need to spend their pocket money on new books rather than anything else. Which meant a monthly standing trip to the bookshop. Which meant River dragging her sister dragging John to the single bookshop in the village to see if they had anything new. 

Henry Copper always chuckled when he saw them coming across the green, looking forward to their visits after over a year since this practice had started. The Williams girls were always dragging the stern young Smith boy into trouble, and Mr Copper was of the opinion that he rather needed to have some trouble in his life. The fun kind that is. 

"Morning Mr Copper!" River chirped, rushing through the door that Missy had pushed open for her. She was ten years old, her head barely reaching the top of his counter. "Have you got anything new?"

"Calm down River," John huffed, unwinding his scarf from his neck, settling in for the long haul. "You'd think this was the first time we'd bought you."

"It's quite alright Master Smith," Mr Copper smiled jovially, his red cheeks round and cheerful, "I know quite what little Miss Song is like, and I do, in fact have some new books that I pulled out especially for you to have a look at! They're over there on the table Miss Song. And perhaps you shoud take your scarf off as well. And," here he lowered hs voice to a stage whisper, leaning forward as if in confidence, "I can help you write down any titles you might want to ask Santa for."

River gasped, and grinned at the thought. If Santa got her books as well that meant more books! She took off towards the table immediately, groaning as Missy caught her around the waist and hauled her to a stop to remove the bobble hat and scarf. Then she was off again. Missy threw the items to John and he hung them up next to their own coats and scarves. Copper Books was always cosy, it was part of the reason they liked it. 

"I think you've made her month," Missy said drily, sidling up to the counter and resting her elbows on the smooth wooden worktop. 

"I think you and Master Smith make it every month, when you bring her here Miss Oakdean," Mr Copper said pointedly. "You're a very good sister."

Missy blushed, jaw clenching, an looking away. She cast a half hearted look at the sci fi books she usually adored, as John made his way directly to his favoured section without so much as a wave. Mr Copper let him go, he knew the boy was strangely shy after all. Mr Copper saw the indecision on her face. 

"Something different perhaps?" He suggested, already considering which books Miss Oakdean might enjoy that Mr Williams wouldn't be upset at her reading. For a lark he suggeted "Romance?" 

Missy's "Are you kidding me" glare had him chuckling. He did so like these three. 

"What about horror," He sad thoughtfully, eyeing the new Stephen King novel in it's place by the door. "There are a few less, well, horrific ones that I think your parents would approve of."

"Mum and Dad don't care what I read," Missy replied haughtily, and while Mr Copper agreed they probably were significally more lenient with Missy's reading material than most, he had better check. He didn't want to be accused of corrupting minors after all. 

"Be that as it may," He countered, reaching for the phone. "Horror is right over there Miss Oakdean, why don't you peruse while I check that your mother won't descend on me and create a horror of her own."

Missy seemed to be fighting back a grin at the thought even as she rolled her eyes at being treated like a child. She was fifteen after all, she was practically an adult. 

He dialed the familar number for the Williams residence, watching fondly as River raced over to her sister to ask for clarification on the definition of a word before rushing back to her pile, a complicated sorting system none of them had been able to figure out. Little River liked stories of women saving themselves, and he was now quiet adept at finding a reasonable range for the little girl to enjoy. 

"Williams," A male voice said cheerfully, "Rory here."

"Ah, Mr Williams, hello, it's Henry Copper," Mr Copper said.

"The girls aren't causing trouble are they?" Rory ased disbelieving, knowing how much the girls in question adored the bookshop. 

"Quite the contrary, I was phoning to ask if Miss Oakdean might be old enough to venture into the more horror sections of my bookshop, I fear she has quite exhausted my selection of science fiction," He wasn't lying, it was getting increasingly difficult to find books that appealed to Miss Oakdean's taste.

"Like?" Rory asked cheerfully, "She's probably been sneaking Amy's off the shelf for years, and I'm pretty sure she wouldn't be shocked by anything. Look, Mr Copper, we trust your discretion - if you think something's not going to be good for her, just tell her. She'll appreciate your honesty and sneak it out of the library instead."

"Good to know," Mr Copper replied drily. "I was thinking Stephen King, and there's a new fellow doing some graphic novels I thought I might order in for her."

Missy glanced over in interested, not even pretending not to eavesdrop as her fingers trailed spines. He made a mental note to definitley order a copy of that series. 

"Sounds good to us," Rory said, "Thank you for calling us, we really don't put too many restrictions on what the girls read. Oh, wait a moment, Amy wants you to give the books she ordered to Missy or John, she's not going to be able to get in before Thursday - why couldn't you just call him yourself? Fine. Sorry Mr Copper. Thank you for calling."

"Thank you very much Mr Williams, Mrs Williams, I'll pass it along," He was always amused by the Williams, all four of them. He did like them very much. "Goodbye now," He put the phone down, leaning down to pull out Amy Williams requested books. 

John wandered over to Missy, his own book of mysteries tucked under his arm. He seemed to be offering his help to reach a book on the top shelf for her to read the cover of. He returned it moments after her eyes had graced the cover, a decided no. They stood, shoulder to shoulder, reading covers in search of the right book for their monthly purchase. A moment passed, and River was pushing between them, asking with wide innocent eyes if she could have two books this month, as they were both small. 

John chuckled, and crouched down to deal with the query while Missy decided between two of the novels in her hands. 

"How much do they cost all together?" John asked softly, holding the books up so River could see how much they cost, and use her fingers to do the counting. 

"Fourteen pounds," her face fell. "But Missy says I only have ten pounds."

"Pick one squirt," Missy decreed, still deciding, "It's what I'm doing. Besides, Mr C can write down the title of the other one and maybe Santa will get it you for Christmas. And then we can get a twist of Rosy Apples with what's left."

River nodded thoughtfully, glancing at the books in her hands. She pursed her lips and then nodded firmly, walking up to the counter with determination. John watched her go with a fond smile, before standing up to help Missy with her decision. 

"You could ask Santa for the other one," Mr Copper head him tease as he himself leant over to accept the two books from her. 

"Which one will it be Miss Song?" He asked, and River very firmly tapped one, The Secret Garden being left to one side. "And are there any you would like to add to a list for Christmas?" 

River nodded, curls bouncing, before she skipped over to her piles and dragged perhaps eight books back to the counter. "These ones please," She asked cheerfully, already pulling her book towards her to read, the rest half forgotten in the pull of a new adventure. She knew Missy would pay with her own book. 

John approached next, his mystery book paid for in exact change, just like always. Mr Copper wasn't quite sure how he managed it, but he always did. He slid sideways for Missy, holding two books just like her sister. She handed one over, holding the other one. 

"Can you write this one down for me or my parents?" She asked, lowering her voice. Mr Copper tapped his nose and added it to River's weighty pile. "And just this one please."

Mr Copper wrapped their books up in brown paper together, as he always did. 

"Your mother asked if you would relay these home as well," he indicated the brown wrapped package at his elbow. "I think she needed them as research for her next book."

"She always says that," Missy shook her head fondly, but scooped the books up nevertheless. "See you around Mr C, and definately after Christmas."

John was sheparding a distracted River back into her coat, giving up entirely and straight up plucking the book from her fingers and slipping it in his pocket. When she was dressed for the weather, he took the books from Missy to give her time to get into her own coat. Watching three of them was always a little like watching a coordinated dance. There was a wave, a cacophony of goodbyes, and Mr Copper was alone in his shop once more, cheered by the visit he'd just had.


	8. one-two-three-four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John likes to check Clara is still breathing when she sleeps

He could spend hours watching her breath, watching the rise and fall of her tiny chest. His daughter. For all his anger at River when she first showed up, Clara had wrapped herself around his heart the second she'd opened brown eyes (he'd been expecting blue, though he couldn't have explained why. River's eyes weren't blue) and her little finger had wrapped around his own. He should have been a little put off that the first thing she did after that was start screaming blue murder for her bottle, but he wasn't. 

In the beginning, he'd wanted to be a part of her life so much, making up for lost time, that he'd climbed into River's bed one night and told her he would help with the night shift if she could keep her hands to herself thank you very much. She'd been exhausted, run ragged. He'd helped as much as he could. And Clara liked him. She'd quiet in his arms, staring up at his face in fascination. He was equally fascinated by her - her ten tiny fingers and ten miniscule toes, so small yet so strong; how much she grew right before his eyes, bursting out of clothes and into new ones as fast as they could buy them for her. She was a marvel, his little Clara. 

But he also had to admit that something had been nagging him for weeks now. Something niggling in the back of his mind that said that River was keeping something from him. Clara looked too much like pictures of Sarah as a baby to not be his child - he didn't doubt her on that. Nor did he care very much. Blood didn't matter for much in this world. He was Clara's father because he chose to be. That was that. 

Something about River's story didn't make…well...sense. He couldn't even put his finger on it. But there was something. He sat next to Clara's cot, the baby already stretching and taking up more room in her sleep. She coughed and moved into another position, her thumb finding its way into her mouth. She was restless

John laid his hand gently across her baby-growed chest, soothing her back to sleep. His palm stilled, his touch light as he realised that he could feel Clara's heart. It shouldn't have suprised him - she was nearly a year old, and had proven that she liked to fall asleep to the sound of his own heart but... it still suprised him. 

He settled in to count her heartbeats, eyes tracing over her round features and chubby tummy. Then his brain stuttered. He frowned, trying to go back to his usual occupation of studying Clara as she slept but he couldn't. He focussed on her heart again, his heart stuttering in response as he realised that Clara's heartbeat wasn't, well, normal. Not like his, or River's at least. Clara had arrythmia? He flooded with fear, forcing himself to calm down and stop jumping to conclusions. 

Instead he concentrated on counting the beats, heartbeats in a familiar tune, one he picked up easily enough despite the nearly two years since he'd last heard it. 

_one-two-three-four_

A neverending drumbeat. 

And then things began to slide into place. 

Clara's dark hair. Her date of birth. River had said Clara was early, but she'd had an entirely normal birth weight. But putting her at full term when born didn't match up with any of his and River's…dates. No. River couldn't have been lying to him about Clara's maternity all this time could she?

Why wouldn't she have just told the truth?

And she was so angry with Missy, for some unknown issue she refused to share…

No. He was overthinking things. There wasn't anything wrong with Clara's heart. He was just imagining problems where there weren't any. He trusted River, even if she was keeping something from him. He was sure she would tell him in her own time whatever the problem was. 

He was tired. That was all. Long hours at work and a baby at home. He was just tired and overthinking and making mountains out of molehills. There was nothing to worry about. Everything was fine. Everything with River was going well. They were a family. 

John soothed Clara's baby round stomach one more time before he pushed himself up and went back to bed, back to River and sleep, determined not to think about the errant thought that had wormed its way into his head. 

Several months later, his suspicions - only deepening with time - were confirmed when the health visitor cheerfully told him there was no reason to worry about Clara' heart murmur, as he already knew of course, because her mother had it as well, it being a matrilineal heart murmur.

_one-two-three-four_: a heartbeat as familiar as his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've realised I'm basically doing NaNoWriMo with this so far. Not necessarily writing one a day, but I will try my best to post one per day for the rest of November. Try being the operative word, where I can get internet.


	9. Letter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As River can't talk to her sister anymore, she writes to her instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I envisage this as a series of letters or diary entries that River wrote as Clara grows up, but I'll only post them one at a time and they won't have dates in them. They were only for River's benefit after all.

Dear Missy, 

It's three o'clock in the morning and Clara is finally alseep. But I can't, and though I know I will never send this to you, I wanted to be able to talk. It's foolish, but I've come to the conclusion that I am mad at you because you didn't even try. Eight days before you dumped your beautiful beautiful baby and ran off. I think I am mad because, no mtter what, I guess I thought better of you. You are my sister after all. 

Clara is nealy thirteen weeks, and she's wonderful. She is curious about everything, delighted at all and any new thing that makes its way into her limited vision. She's absolutely fascinated with John. He can't feed her the bottle because she is just too busy staring at him with a look of abject concentration on her tiny little face. She looks like you, when you're trying to determine the answer to a particularly stubborn problem. But maybe I'm the only one who sees it because I'm the only one who knows. 

I promised you I wouldn't tell, but Missy it's hard. You and I are liars by nature, but lying to mum and dad, and to John - it feels so wrong. I'm not directly lying. I tell them stories of your pregnancy and let them assume it was my own. Lying by omission is still lying of course, but it feels less damaging. I wish you hadn't made me promise, and I wish I hadn't told you to never show your face again. I was angry. I still can't believe that this, after everything we've been through, is what made you leave. 

I miss you. Mum and dad are confused as to why you haven't been to visit. Whatever you said to John before you left to stop him following you to Glasgow has him hurting still. He pretends he's fine but I've known you both for as long as I can remember. I know he's hurting. And I know you are too, wherever you've landed this time. 

I know you're stubborn. You won't come home until I all but order you to… but I don't think you would come if I asked. You seem so convinced that you're unforgivable, you never stop to think that the whole point of family is that we've already forgiven you. 

Clara feels like mine now. She won't settle when she's tired unless I am in the room. She brightens up, or searches for me if she hears my voice. She'll twist around when we're doing tummy time and she reaches for me if she sees me. I'm her mother in heart and we both know it. She adores her father, and she loves Grandpa Brian like you wouldn't believe. She's going to be one thoroughly spoilt kid, is our little girl. 

I'd better stop now. Clara is blowing spit bubbles in her sleep and it's adorable. You'd hate this life so much, I know, but I wish you were here to see her growing! She's still tiny, barely in 3-6 month clothes. She adores that dinsoaur teddy we found on that day trip to Edinburgh. You know, the one you picked up and decided we should buy. It was a moment that made me fear you wouldn't be able to let her go. 

I never realised that when I gained a daughter, I'd lose my sister. I never knew the terms. I won't give her up for anything, but god Missy, I miss you. 

I'm not sorry for what I said,  
River


	10. Birth Certificate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara finds her birth certificate and had some questions

"Don't mind me," Clara pushed the door to her parents study open and slipped inside, sliding it closed again as quietly as she could. She knew her mum was working on something imporant for the Institue, something to do with mental health funding and provisions. Whatever it was, it was important enough for mum to be working on a Sunday, a day she kept religiously for family shenanigans. "Dad sent me for our birth certificates."

Missy waved her towards the filing cabinet distractedly, reviewing the figures in the projected budget, trying to work out how to make the entire system more efficent and better for the students. "Top drawer," she added absently, turning the page "Let me know if you can't find it. It's in a labelled folder."

Missy had finished another page when she realised that Clara hadn't slipped out of the room, file in hand but that her eleven year old daughter was standing in the middle of the room, a slip of paper in her hand and her face paler than the moon. 

She ran over the last few minutes in her mind and came to a crashing realisation as to just what document Clara held in her hand. 

Clara was eleven, and they were applying for her first proper passport. They were getting passports for both the girls, the promise of a holiday abroad enticing John and Missy into doing the stupidly complex paperwork. A paperwork process that required birth certificates (or adotption certificate in Skye's case). 

Missy had a split second to decide if she should feign confusion or just straight up confess. Well, they were planning on telling her that summer anyway. She was at secondary now, after all. 

"Oh," Missy said finally. Clara raised wide brown eyes from the page. Missy kicked a chair over. "You'd better take a seat."

"Why," Clara half-choked. She cleared her throat, continuing in a quavering voice that had Missy's heart clenching. "Why does it say your name, and not mummy's on my birth certificate?"

"Your a smart girl Clara," Missy sighed. This was not how she envisioned this conversation going. John was with her for starters in the plan. "You know what it means."

Clara lifted her chin, jaw clenched together. Her daughter looked just like her when she did that. Missy knew that Clara wanted to hear it, not just suppose or infer it. Solid truths rather than assumptions. 

"I am named on your birth cetificate because I gave birth to you," Missy confirmed. "And then, after you were born, I gave you to your mummy and daddy."

Clara was looking at her in something akin to horror "You didn't _want_ me?" She breathed in shock. __

_ _"No, no," Missy pushed forward, guiding Clara's shaking frame gently into the chair and pulling her close enough so her daughter could see her eyes. "No, never think that."_ _

_ _"Then why did you give me away to mummy and dad?" Clara's voice was so small it made Missy want to cry. Maybe they should have just told her when she was younger, but would she have understood any more then. _ _

_ _"Your mummy couldn't have babies," Missy explained, figuring the surrogacy route would be better for now than the truth of 'I freaked out'. "She had a problem with her womb, where the baby grows. Remember from your biology class and when we talked about where babies came from?" Clara nodded, tears dripping down the end of her nose. "Well, mummy couldn't have babies. So when I fell pregnant with you, we all decided that you would be raised by mummy and daddy, because they would be able to give you lots of things I couldn't."_ _

_ _It was an overly simplistic explaination, and Clara seemed a little dubious. Missy hoped to hell that Clara didn't link Missy falling pregnant to the make-a-baby conversation. She was so not ready to explain the shitstorm that was hers and John's relationship at point of conception. Ever. _ _

_ _"So, when you were born, your mummy and daddy bought you back here, and I went to America. And then, when your mummy got sick she called me. She wanted me to meet you. She'd hadn't thought I'd disappear from all of your lives quite so completely y'see. And, well, you were there for the rest."_ _

_ _Clara didn't look convinced, and it was too cut and dry a story._ _

_ _"But why did you have to give me away?" Clara asked hesitantly. "Did you not love me?"_ _

_ _"No," Missy refted vehmently, "I loved you so much I wanted you to have a better life than the one you would have had with me. I wasn't a good person back then sweetie, I was arrogant and dangerous and if I'd have kept you, I'd have been putting you at risk. I wouldn't have been a good mother to you.. I wanted you to have a fun childhood, a good childhood. And when you were born, I couldn't give that to you. I had to to do a lot of growing up before I was able to come back. It was because of how much I loved you when I met you that I stayed."_ _

_ _Missy traced the edges of Clara's familiar face, turning from baby roundness to adult shape. _ _

_ _"I'm sorry you had to find out like this," Missy confessed, wiping Clara's tears off her cheek with her thumb. "Dad and I were going to tell you after term ended. We were going to have a grown up conversation, just the three of us."_ _

_ _"So mummy wasn't my mum?"_ _

_ _"Is Amy not my mum? Is Sarah not dads? Mums and birth mothers are a strange thing Clara-dear. River was as much your mum as I am, in different ways. She kissed your scraped knees, and told you about santa and soothed your nightmares. She is your mum. You have been calling me mum since you were - ohhh, nine years old. I'm not any more or less your mum than I was then. I had to earn being your mum and I am far prouder that I earn't that title than I am for the fact I gave birth to you. Which sounded better in my head - point is, darling, your mummy is still your mum, and I'm the same mum who's been sneaking you tea for the past fourish years and all other bad influnence things besides. Mums are people like everyone else. We make mistakes too."_ _

_ _Clara seemed to accept this explaination a little more than the other one. Missy should have accepted that. She wasn't a child anymore, not a little kid anyway. She couldn't be fobbed off with half the story. _ _

_ _"You have two mums and a dad, just the same as before," Missy summarised, tucking Clara's hair behind her ear and leaning back to give her space. "Just, now you know you share my awesome genetics and not River's. Nothing has changed, not really. You're still you, just with new information."_ _

_ _Clara nodded gravely, frowning. She would probably have more questions later. _ _

_ _"Please may I go to the treehouse?" She asked quietly, just as John poked his head around the door. He frowned at the image before him, slipping the rest of his body into the room._ _

_ _"Everything ok?" He asked hesitantly. "Only, I sent Clara up here for the birth certificates folder ages ago…"_ _

_ _Missy glanced at Clara. Clara glanced back and nodded slowly. _ _

_ _"Clara just had some…questions about the mother section of her birth certificate," Missy told him, lips in a thin smile. John's mouth formed a brief 'oh' as his eyes darted to his eldest. _ _

_ _"Erm," he falted and coughed. _ _

_ _"It's ok dad," Clara rolled her eyes, pushing herself out of the chair and handing him the file. "Mum explained some things. I think I'll be in the treehouse for a bit. If I have any more questions, I'll ask them."_ _

_ _She nodded at them both, avoiding eye contact, before slipping out of the door._ _

_ _John turned the folder over in his hand, pulling out Clara's slightly crumpled birth certificate. His thumb ran over the name Michelle Oakdean printed there. _ _

_ _"I didn't even think…" he trailed off, exhaling. _ _

_ _"She was bound to find out at some point," Missy dismissed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. That hadn't been what she'd expected to do this afternoon. _ _

_ _"But we were going to tell her together," John dropped into Clara's vacated chair and took her hand tightly. "How did she take it?"_ _

_ _"She wanted to know why I hadn't wanted her, and if I loved her, if River loved her…" Missy's voice broke a little. She cleared her throat. "She'll have more questions, and I think she'll be quiet for a few days.. but I told her the truth. That I wasn't a good person and she was better off here, and that River was her mum and I'm her mum and nothing's changed. Not really. God, why did I have to turn this into such a complicted mess all those years ago?"_ _

_ _John squeezed her hand. They'd agreed to stop rehashing ancient history some years ago. She knew that he agreed she'd done the right thing the wrong way and there was no point in dwelling on possible alternatives when the reality was in front of them. _ _

_ _"I'd better go stop Skye from cutting things up with the shape scissors again," he said finally, standing up. He paused before leaving, dropping a kiss to Missy's hairline. "She'll be ok. She's got some amazing mums."_ _

_ _"That she does," Missy agreed, turning back to her work even though she knew she wouldn't be getting anything else done today. She would be sitting on the veranda, right where Clara would be able to see her if she did have any questions. "That she does."_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reviews make me happy!


	11. Roman Warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River and Clara discuss her latest paper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do some River and little Clara fluff. That's it

Clara kicked her heels against the wood of the bench. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. It grated on River's already tense nerves. She took a deep, steadying breath, reminding herself sternly that it wasn't her child's fault that she hadn't slept in days, that her abdomen still felt like it was on fire three days into her period. It was almost mocking her. Agonising pain and she couldn't even have a baby. 

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. 

"Clara," River warned sharply, closing her eyes against the repetitive noise that seemed to have transferred to the inside of her skull. "Please stop kicking the chair."

Clara looked up from her book, eyes wide in suprise. She peered over the edge of the hardback, looking at her mary-janes in suprise, like her feet were doing things of completely their own accord while she was reading. 

"Sowwy mumma," Clara lisped, closing her book and crawling across the bench to reach River's side. She peered at the paper River was editing while they waited for their appointment. "Whasat?"

"What's that," River corrected with a smile, tilting the page so Clara could see. She was unendingly curious, her daughter, but for the life of her River couldn't work out which parent she might have inhereted that from. Probably all three of them. "It's a paper I'm writing for the Journal of Archaeology."

Clara crossed her legs underneath her, frowning to puzzle out the words. She was good at reading, far more advanced for her age, but an academic paper would be beyond her, and River told her so with a laugh. Clara huffed and looked put out. 

"What is it about?" She demanded clearly, and rather loudly. The only other patient in the waiting room, a grumpy old man, glared at her. River glared back at him until he turned back to his newspaper. 

"Well, do you remember when I went to Wessex to the dig?" River asked. She and John didn't simplify things for Clara, if she didn't understand something she let them know. Often and loudly usually, until she'd worked it out. She reminded River of her sister in that respect, and also in the expression on her face as she thought about it. 

"The Romans!" Clara gasped, her face lighting up. Ever since River had gone down to supervise a Roman burial ground found where they were planning to build a new hotel, Clara had been fascinated. She wanted to know everything about them and had many, many age-appropriate books cluttering up her bedside table. 

"That's right. Well, I found some bones there, and they look like they were from a woman who was given the same burial rites as legionaires. I'm writing about what I found, and why it is important for people to know about it," River informed her, smiling down at her little sponge and feeling some of the tension in her head ease up. She did love her daughter's curious nature. 

"Was she a wawwior?" Clara asked excitedly, her eyes lighting up. She had been most put out to find out they didn't have female warriors in the Roman times. John had read her the story of Boudicca that evening and their daughter found a new hero. "Like Budca?"

"I think she was a warrior, but not quite like Boudicca," River looked down at her paper. "Do you know what I think?"

"What?" Clara whispered back, beaming. 

"I think she dressed up as a man and acted like a man so she could fight in the war," River reasoned, glancing at her analysis. "She was a warrior, and like the other warriors, she was buried with her sword and her shield. It was a very honourable funeral."

"How'd she die?" Clara asked curiously, poking at one of the images in the pile on River's lap. River paused her, she was always honest with her daughter, but she didn't much fancy explaining a broken neck to her pre-schooler. 

"In battle, I think," River mused, "Or shortly afterwards. I think that someone ambushed their party and she died in the fight. There were a few other bodies nearby, but only she was given a Roman burial."

"Hmmm," Clara agreed thoughtfully, and River had to laugh at her attempt at having a Deep Thought About Academia. It was the same noise her husband made when he was thinking. "What?" Clara asked suspiciously, narrowing her eys at her mothers laugh. 

River held out an arm, inviting Clara into a hug before pressing a kiss to the top of her head and squeezing her tight. 

"I just love you lots and lots," River pressed a few other kisses to Clara's face, the little girl shrieking in delight. Clara squirmed out of her grasp, wheezing with laughter. 

"Like jelly tots?" Clara checked. River scrunched her nose up and nodded. "Love you too like smawties blue!" Clara completed in delight. 

Just then, the door opened, and a nurse poked her head out. 

"Clara Smith," She called cheerfully. Clara hopped up and waved. She had been visiting Nurse Redfern for most of her life, getting check ups on her heart murmur. "Come on then poppet, bring mummy!"

River gathered her papers, juggling them back into their folder as she followed. She hadn't realised she'd just needed a dose of Clara to remind her that the pain in her stomach was just that, pain. She already had far more than she thought she ever would after all.


	12. Break Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara breaks up her girlfriend and Missy is nominated to talk to her about it

Missy had barely made it through the door when John was at her shoulder, helping her out of her coat, and Skye was at her elbow, pressing her customary tea into her hand in exchange for her bag. They asked her cheerfully about her day, but it was very clear they were hurrying her through her evening routine for some, undoubtedly nefarious, purpose. 

"What's wrong?" she asked her partner and daughter bluntly, stepping out of her heels and shrinking several inhes, the arches of her feet complaining bitterly at the sudden change to their shape. "You two are hustling. So, what have you done?"

Skye looked up at her father and then said "Clara got home and went straight to the treehouse and when I tried to go up she threw her book at me."

"And she made it very clear we weren't to disturb her," John added, concern lacing his words. He lowered his voice, even though Skye was already up to Missy's shoulder and would undoubtedly be able to hear everything anyway. "She sounded like she'd been crying."

"And you thought I'd be able to help where neither of you suceeded?" She asked dubiously. Clara was nearly sixteen, and she and Missy seemed to butt heads more often than not these days. Their personalities were too similar for anything resembling an easy life. 

John nodded, not a trace of doubt on his face. Skye's answer was to hand over Missy's scruffy garden shoes and a cardigan. Missy raised her eyebrows, but accepted them both easily. She finished her tea as they all moved through the house, John and Clara updating her on everything that had happened in Clara's life recently, as if Missy hadn't heard all the same stories from her daughter as they had. 

"Right, you two," she ordered, passing her empty mug to Skye. "Why don't you make, order or conjure some dinner, I'll go see if I can get some answers."

She left them outlined in the doorway, John eventually pulling Skye away and closing the door as Missy made her way across the lawn that had somehow become party-central and up to the tree where she had built Clara a treehouse the summer after they had first moved in. It was where Clara went when she wanted everyone to leave her alone. Skye disappeared up to the rafters, Clara to the treehouse. What was it with her daughters and heights?

"Clara?" Missy called up, noting that the ladder had been pulled partway up, far enough that even John wouldn't have been able to reach. "Clara, you're father and sister are worried about you so I've been sent to see if you feel like talking. Yes or no poppet?"

She waited patiently, knowing Clara would take a minute or two to decide. 

"Ok then," She called up, when Clara failed to answer in any form. "Dinner will be in an hour."

She made to leave, and Clara lowered the ladder the rest of the day. Seemed like offsping did want to talk after all. Missy felt every one of her fifty years as she climbed the ladder. Why couldn't her girls like sitting in the library or in the garage when they wanted space, like she and John did?

"Oof, I'm getting too old for this," Missy informed Clara as she hauled herself up into the tree house. It was a good treehouse, she was still very proud of it. But the smooth wood and the rugs and the bookshelves weren't what drew her attention on that trip. 

It was Clara, curled up on the opposite side of the hut, her knees drawn tightly to her chest and her cheeks red and blotchy. Her cardigan sleeves were pulled down over her hands, and her book bag had spilled carelessly across the floor. When Missy saw her, tears welled up in Claras eyes again and she descended into what was clearly a fresh set of sobs. 

"Oh Clara," Missy sighed, shuffling over and pulling her sobbing teenager into her lap to cry, just as she had done many times over the years, even if the occasions had been fewer and fewer as Clara got older. "Let it all out, come on sweetie, I'm here." 

They sat like that a little while longer, until Clara's sobbing turned to hiccups and started to abate somewhat. 

"So, you want to tell me who I need to kill?" Missy asked, conversationally, and Clara barked out a laugh, pulling back to wipe her nose with her sleeve. Missy's nose wrinkled in distaste, but now wasn't the time to ask Clara why she didn't have a hankerchief with her (Clara had been the one to insist they stopped using disposable tissues and start using hankerchiefs, along with a litany of other plastic-free alternatives to their lifestyle). 

"No one needs to die," Clara reassured her, her voice the thick and deep sort that comes from a long and sorely needed crying session. 

Missy waited, one head to the side, for Clara to expand on what had caused her to cry. That was why Missy was so much better than John and Skye in situations like this. Skye had learnt John's tendancy to ask questions and ask questions in a desperate attempt to fix things and often left the person they were trying to help frustrated enough to throw the nearest hard object (like books). 

"I broke up with Jane," Clara admitted quietly, playing with the hem of her school skirt. "Well," she amended, her voice getting heavier wih tears again "She broke up with me."

Clara was fifteen, for all she tried to act older. Jane had been her first girlfriend, her first significant other really, her first real crush and relationship and all that jazz. And now her first break up. The cause of her first broken heart. 

"Well, her loss," Missy said quietly, knowing that Clara didn't really want plaitudes or things about how there were more fish in the sea, espeically if you liked lots of different kinds of fish, or anything that other people would try and make her feel better. "Want to talk about it?"

Clara shook her head. But Missy knew all she had to do was wait; Clara was a pot waiting to boil over. Instead, she shuffled back into her mum's side, resting her head on a cardiganed shoulder. 

"Want me to ask dad to send provisions and we stay up here and watch The Worst Witch?" Missy asked quietly. For all it was a fairly awful children's TV show that Clara had liked as a child and had long since ended, it was what she turned to when ill or upset, seeking the familiarlity of the storylines. Clara paused, and shook her head. Missy would ask again in half an hour if Clara hadn't moved. 

"I thought things were going really well," Clara confessed, or admitted, or whatever quietly into the treehouse. "I really liked her, and I thought she really liked me but… she said she liked me more as a friend than as a girlfriend. She was just so, offhanded about it. Like she though I'd agree with her. She… said she'd realised a few weeks ago, but thought she'd get past it and start liking me like that again."

"Rude," Missy huffed, Clara sniffed. 

"What if she was just with me because of our literature project?" Clara asked quietly, so quietly that Missy almost missed it. "We paired up because we were seeing each other, and we handed our project in on Wednesday, so she wouldn't have reason to carry on now it's done. We're going to do really well on it."

"Well, you weren't doing a lit project when you started going out," Missy reasoned, "So she didn't start dating you because of her English grade. And even if she waited till after your project was done to break up with you, that isn't your fault, you know that right? Don't go blaming yourself for doing something wrong when sometimes two people just don't fit together like they used to."

Clara may have believed her, she may not. She may have blamed herself, she may not. Missy wasn't sure if she was helping or not, but Clara seemed to still want her there. 

"Why does it hurt so much?" Clara asked, her voice tiny and confused. 

That, Missy could answer with some sort of experience. 

"It hurts because when you like someone, or love someone, you put your trust in them, your faith of sorts. You give them parts of yourself that you've never given anyone before and when they decide that it's not what they want you feel exposed, like when you've split a blister on the bottom of your foot and you have to keep walking on it until it heals. You've got all the new exposed nerves and skin and it hurts. But it doesn't keep hurting poppet, I promise. Skin grows, after all," She tucked Clara's head under her chin and sighed, pulling her tighter. "But it does hurt for a bit, I know. And part of that hurt is embarrassment at yourself because you didn't see it coming."

Clara sniffed. 

"Did this happen to you?" Clara asked cautiously.

"Not as such," Missy said hesitantly, trying to work out how to explain to her fifteen year old just how much of a cad she had been as a teenager, and how the only meaningful relationships had been with her sister and her friend now partner. "I was usually the one who decided I didn't want to get close to people. I was, well, I wasn't a nice person and especially not to my partners. I didn't want the hassle of a relationship. The only relationships that have ever meant anything to me are the one with your dad, and the one with your mum and that clearly wasn't the same kind of relationship. They were who I was vulnerable with. I had friends - Vastra, Alistair for example but they were just that. Friends. Romanitc relationships i wasn't all that good at."

"Oh," Clara said, something like understanding in her voice. 

"So, when River told me she never wanted to see me again because I decided you'd be better off without me, it really hurt. This was my sister, the woman who knew every single dark and dangerous thing about me.There's power in knowledge, and I felt threatened. Not to mention I was grumpy because I had recently pushed a watermelon out of my vagina," Missy paused to prod Clara's head. "But losing mum and by default losing dad and everyone here, it hurt. A lot. In ways I hadn't realised I was capable of hurting until then. I'd never put my heart out there, so I never learnt how to heal."

Clara twisted to look up, frowning, trying to understand what her mum was getting at. 

"I guess I'm trying to say that, god I don't have the right words… you know, Sarah-Jane always says that loss and pain define us as much as happiness or love, and what I'm trying to say is that you shouldn't decide not to put yourself out again to people, be it potential romantic partners or friends, because getting hurt is one of the less cool parts of life, and not one they put on motivational postcards," Missy blew out a long breath, trying to scramble her thoughts into a semblance of order. "It hurts now, and it will hurt again, is what I am trying to say I think, but you shouldn't let the prospect of pain stop you from living your life."

Clara looked suprised, as if she couldn't believe that her mum had successfully deduced what she had been thinking. 

"It's shit now, I know," Missy smiled, "But it won't always be. And whatever Jane felt or feels, you can't make her feel something for you if it's not there. I'm a bit rubbish at this, I always was. You might want to go talk to Grandpa Rory for a bit of mollycoddling if you like, but I've only had one successful romantic relationship in my life and he's currently walking this way with a pizza and a laptop by the looks of it."

Clara chuckled. 

"So you haven't done too badly then," she teased half-heartedly. 

"Well, I got you and your sister out of it, so I'd say I haven't done too badly at all," Missy retorted, before raising her voice to call down to John. "We don't want any trouble. Leave the food and the entertainment and be on your way peacefully now."

John stopped and glared up into the shadow of the trees. 

"Hilarious," he grumbled, even as Clara could be heard giggling. "Is that all the thanks I get for cooking dinner and bringing you supplies? Fine!"

But he looked relieved to hear them joking. Missy winked at him, letting him know that everything would be ok. He nodded, leaving everything in a small pile on the ground and loping back off to the house. Later that night she would explain everything to John in bed, knowing Clara would be ok, that she would bounce back and probably have someone else by Christmas. Her daughter had too big a heart to let it shrivel up in her chest like her mum had done after all. 

"If he's bought ice-cream I might marry him," Missy joked, pretending to be put out that she would have to climb down and back up. 

"No you wouldn't," Clara said confidently, climbing down quick as a flash in her mother's stead. She returned moments later with the pizza, the laptop and the blanket balanced precariously. "Thanks mum."

"My nonsense actually helped?" Missy didn't have to feign suprise, she was genuinely suprised. "Who knew!"

"You helped," Clara corrected, pulling the blanket around them and starting her laptop. "Some of what you said was a bit motivational greeting card, but you helped because you were here and you've done it before, so I can too."

She wasn't alright. It was her first heartbreak and Missy knew that sting would take a while to fade, but Clara cuddled up to her, picking at her pizza and smiling as Miss Hardbroom encountered Miss Pentangle for the first time in thirty years. She wasn't ok, but she would be. She was made of tough stuff like starlight after all, and she knew it. 

Missy knew she should wish that Clara had never had to experience this, but she didn't because life was made of experiences and learning from then. Clara would learn how to heal, like she never had, but she wouldn't have to do it alone. It may not have been much, but it was better than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clara's girlfriend is a reference to her on show affair with Jane Austen.
> 
> Thanks for the prompt!


	13. Fairytale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara tries her hand at writing a fairytale about her parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The italics are Missy or John interrupting as Clara tells them a bedtime story rather than the other way round. 
> 
> I literally just wanted to write them a fairytale.

Once upon a time there was a princess. She had a lovely daddy, the King, and a beautiful castle with rooms to run around a play hide and seek with all her family and friends. The princesses mummy had died when she was younger, and the princess knew her daddy was sad. He loved his kingdom and the princess very much, but the princess knew he missed her mummy lots, and he didn't have lots of friends. So she tried to help!

She went to her nanna, and asked her if it was true that if you wished upon a star, your wish would come true. Nanna said that it had to be a special star _(A purple one?)_ Shh! Fine, a purple star. A special purple star that didn't shine in the sky every night. The princess had to be patient and wait every night for the special star. She wasn't usually very good at patience, but this was for her daddy, so she waited every night until she fell asleep in the window and her daddy put her to bed.

Then, one night, the purple star appeared next to a moon that looked like a smiley face! And the princess sat in the window and she wished harder than she had ever wished for a long time. Then, she had to go to bed, having wished as much as she could wish. 

_(And what did she wish for poppet?_ Hush mummy! I'm telling the story! _Sorry, continue)_

Weeks past and the princess worried that her wish hadn't worked, and that she wouldn't be able to help her daddy. But nanna said that wishes, espeically big wishes wished extra hard took extra time and she would have to be paient. So the princess waited, and waited and waited. Her daddy was still sad, but the princess knew he wouldn't always be sad because of her wish. 

When it was harvest time, the King announced there would be a big festival, with lots of parties. The princess was very excited, because she was old enough to stay until after dinner time, and her nanny had bought her a new coat with red ribbons on it. She forgot about her wish for a bit, because her daddy was happy organising the festival, and she was happy as well. 

At the festival, everything was going very well. There were lots of happy people, and the princesses cousings, Sir Luke and Lady Rose had come along to take part and she hadn't seen them in a long time. But then, in the middle of the party, her daddy stood up and all the music stopped and everyone was staring at someone who had appeared in the middle of the room. 

She appeared as if by magic! Poof! There she was, in the middle of the dancing. She had on a cloak with lots of patches covering holes, and carried a bag with her. She looked suprised to see a party there. But she just waved a hand, and suddenly she had on the most beautiful purple dress on, and her bag had gone. She was a magician! Everyone clapped, but the king held his hand up and he was frowning at the new person and the princess got worried. Sir Luke took her back to her daddy, just as the new lady approached the front. 

It was very quiet, and the princess wanted to be with her daddy. But he was looking at the new woman. She curseyed and called him "Your majesty" like was proper. But he didn't bow back, as was proper. Instead, he went down and stood right in front of her and said "My lady" and he seemed angry. The princess was very confused. 

"I came as soon as I heard," The lady magician said. "I didn't mean to interrupt a party."

The lady had been the Queen's sister, and she was a witch. She saw the princess, and smiled at her. The princess liked her. But her daddy was still unhappy, but she was his family so he let her go and say hello to her mummy and other family. And later, the lady witch made fireworks from her hands and it was a very good party. 

After dinner, the princess was supposed to go to bed, but she snuck back to watch the dancing. She was suprised when her daddy the king approached the lady witch. They danced in the middle of lots of people, but the princess was happy because her daddy was dancing. 

The next morning, the lady witch came to breakfast and talked to the princess about her classes and about climbing trees and magic. The princess liked her a lot. She was pleased that her daddy had said she could stay in the castle with them. She spent a lot of time with the Lady witch, and she started to teach her some magic like tying her hair up. 

The king and the lady witch were spending a lot of time together. They ate their dinner together, and argued over books in the library and went for walks in the morning before everybody woke up. The princess was happy, because her daddy wasn't sad any more.

Then one day, the king and the witch argued, and the witch left the castle to stay with her mummy and daddy. The princess was angry at her daddy and she told him off. She liked the witch and wanted her to stay with them forever and ever. The king was grumpy and sad again. He would argue with people and his eyebrows were very mean. They didn't talk for a long time. Until the princess came into dinner one day, and the witch was there, waiting with her daddy. They were happy again.

It took a long long time, but the king and the witch got married, and they were the best King and Queen the country had ever had, even though they tended to argue all the time about silly little things. Then they had a baby, and the princess had a little sister to play with. And they all lived happily ever after. 

_Wonderful story Clara! I like how mum is a witch._

_Cheeky. I was an excellent witch by the sound of it. Well done poppet. It was very good. _

_Did you like it?_

_We did like it poppet. But Clara?_

_Yes mum?_

_You still aren't getting a baby sister.___


	14. Imbalance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy decides to have a talk with Skye about anxiety
> 
> (inspired by the Kirsten Bell interview about her mum speaking to her about dopamine imbalance)

Sometimes she had days. Days where nothing could hold her interest, where the feeling of despondency was rooted so deeply into her soul that it felt like it would never budge. But it hadn't happened for a while. With two daughters and a fairly hands on job, she had little time to allow the hollow spaces to echo loud enough to be heard. It was just delaying the inevitable of course, but Missy was nothing if not efficient at avoiding the inevitable. 

Missy thrived off of activity, or whirlwind plans and decisions made firmly and completely. Usually, her Days were assoicated with times where she wasn't sure what she was doing, where things would go next. She'd had more than a few dark days after her sister passed and she had returned home, the prodigal daughter. But it had been expected then. She had just sold her company, effectively retired back home to a village that watched her out of the corner of her eye in case she high tailed it, and back then she hadn't known how her relationship with Clara, John and her parents would turn out. 

On the days she wasn't bothering John, or her mother, she would walk around absently, frustrated over nothing at all and filled with the strongest desire to both do something and the desire to just sleep. She would flick between channels, never watching more than a second or two of this documentary or that film. She would start this book and that, never settling down to one in particular. She would get up. She would sit down. She would make food and prod it around her plate before putting it into tupperware because while her brain was insisting she eat, her stomach hadn't got the memo that she was hungry. 

The Days were frustrating, but she always knew they would pass eventually. She would be irritable for a day or two, and then she would find the direction again and she would be fine. It was all just a lack of knowing what was coming next. A vicious cycle of course - she was less inclined to work towards a decision with every day of indecision. 

It had never occured to her that such days might be inherited, or learnt or whatever the arguments for nature versus nurture were these days. But looking at her daughter, dark hair spilling haphazardly across vacant eyes, she wondered how she hadn't thought of it before, hadn't taught Clara how to fight the demons in her own head. Not that Missy, nor John, had ever been much good at that. John had a hero complex a city wide. 

"You alright there pet?" She advanced cautiously, laundry basket balanced on her hip like she was some godforsaken housewife. Not for the first time in the last six years, she wondered how her life had come to balancing laundry baskets in one hand with paperwork in the other, checking on her child. 

"Hmm?" Clara started, turning from the window and blinking a few times. "Sorry mum, away with the fairies. What was that?"

Missy put the laundry down, studiously ignoring the twinge in her back at the strain, and sat down on the window seat with a barely supressed groan. She was rewarded by Clara's lips tickng upwards. She mock glared at her, daring her to make an 'old' comment. 

"I asked if you were ok," Missy repeated, tilting her head to one side to study the gentle curves of her daughter's face, elongating as it was into a woman's face. Fourteen. How was her baby fourteen already?

"Oh, yeah, just trying to decide what to do," Clara shrugged, as if sitting in a window for an hour was entirely normal. It wasn't. Not for her. Not without a pile of books at her shoulder. 

"You know," Missy started slowly, not wanting to diagnose Clara but also not sure how to broach the conversation. She stopped and tried to start again. Years before, she had found herself watching an interview with… oh, what was her name again? Kirsten Good Place? Bell! That was it. Kirsten Bell talking about her mother's approach to anxiety and how it helped. Missy really hoped that was the message, because it sounded like talking would be really useful here. All the time actually. But here. 

"You ok mum?" Clara asked in some bemusement, looking a little more like herself than she had done minutes previously.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about some things," She said slowly, "And for some bizarre reason, I think now might be the time to do it."

Clara leant her head on her hands, curiosity caught. Missy hadn't anticiapted having this conversation on the back stairs, but when the situation presented itself and all that crap. 

"I wanted to talk to you about anxiety and depression," Missy said carefully, damning society for all it was worth that made this conversation more difficult than explaining sex (she would be taking that with both girls - John was useless at talking about sex. Excellent at the activity, terrible at talking about it). 

"Oh,' Clara's eyes slid sideways and, if possible, she seemed to shrink in on herself. "I'm fine mum, promise."

Missy wanted to reach out, to draw her back out again, but the thing about monsters? They were so good at rejecting help. 

"Oh, no, not you," Missy replied brazenly, trying to take the pressure off a bit. "I'm talking about me. I've apparently got a dopamine and seratonin imbalance and, in the past, I have had very bad anxiety. Less of the depression but I've had that too. My coping mechanisms are terrible. I think it's why my company became so successful so quickly after I gave you to your mummy and dad. I'm not very good with inactivity."

Clara was looking at her in that strange way that screamed of River, of processing information to be considered exceedingly carefully later but for now it was just being stored for future consideration. Good. 

"Thing is," Missy turned on the seat, tucking one foot under her other leg. "It's heritable. You know what that means, I remember the conversation about eye colour when you were doing genetics at school. God what a week that was. It means that if you ever start feeling that everything is out of control, that you can't sleep, that… you want to stay away from people or you don't want to do things - and I mean that in the way of no I really can't work up the energy to get out of bed to do this one specific task I really want to do. Well, if you feel like that or if you just feel in your chest that something is wrong, I want you to talk to someone. It doesn't have to be me, Nan and Gramps are pretty good listeners, or dad, or I can take you to the doctor. But, please poppet, I just want you to promise you'll talk to someone."

"Isn't anxiety a bad thing to have?" Clara asked in the same tiny voice she'd used when she was eleven years old and found her birth certificate and asked why Missy had lied to her all those years. It was her 'I'm scared of the answer' voice. 

"No," Missy said firmly, "Our world is getting better at this. You just need to talk to someone if you feel like that. I'd prefer it if you talked to me and dad because we can help you, but if you don't want to, I can book you a meeting with the GP and I'll sit outside and you don't have to tell me anything. But I just wanted to let you know it was ok, that it was nothing you should feel like you need to hide because it isn't, that just makes you feel worse."

Clara nodded slowly, her eye flicking out to the garden. "I promise to talk to someone if I feel like that," she whispered. She thought like her mother, she knew the promise was needed. 

"Thank you," Missy tucked Clara's hair back into her bandana. Clara leaned into a hug which Missy was more than happy to oblige. "Cup of tea?" Clara nodded into her chest. 

"Mum?" Clara asked quietly. "How do you make it stop?"

"Make what stop?"

"Feeling…empty," Clara supplied, her forehead furrowing in confusion. 

"Well, for me, I spend time with you or Skye, or your dad, or your grandparents, or my friends," Missy mused, "Because it stops me feeling alone. Or I will work on my car, because I am doing something with my hands and I am thinking… why don't you try writing again? You don't have to write anything in particular, I'm not expecting the works of Stephen King out of your laptop, but … just get a pen and a notepad and write down how you're feeling?"

Clara nodded thoughtfully. 

"Thanks mum," she said, smiling softly. "Do you want me to ask dad and Skye if they want tea?"

Aha conversation was over. Ok. 

"Asking your dad if he wants tea is like asking if the pope is catholic," Missy snorted. "And your sister is still far too young for caffeine."

"Just give her milky water with sugar in," Clara shrugged, hopping off the seat and picking up the laundry basket. "S'what dad does."

"Is it now?" Missy raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. 

"She just wants to feel included," Clara pointed out, waiting for Missy to start down the stairs. "She likes it."

And so did Clara by the sound of it. Besides, that was how Clara had started drinking tea - that and please mum can I have a sip with big brown eyes. 

"Alright then," Missy pretended to be annoyed for a mere second before smirking at her eldest. "Four teas it is. Go and round up the others please, there's a dear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was actually the first one I wrote of this records section. It isn't meant to be perfect, but it's more about opening dialouge about mental health.


	15. Letter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River writes Missy letters

Dear Missy,

Clara has started cutting teeth. She's in agony and crying near constantly and I want to cry as well because I don't know how to take away her pain. She's got bonjella for her gums and plastic keys to chew on and gummy rings that we leave in the freezer - we're doing everything we can but she still cries till she's red in the face and barely able to breath. John and I have to take it in turns walking her up and down the corridor in the flat, desperately trying to get her to sleep. It doesn't work very often. She likes music though, loud enough to get her attention - usually thats enough to calm her down but the pain means even that isn't working. 

I can't stop myself from wondering if you would somehow know what to do. Then I have to remind myself that motherhood isn't innate and you would be even more clueless than we are. You would have given up long before and parenting is about not giving up. 

You missed dad's birthday. He was hurt, really hurt. I get not wanting to turn up, but forgetting dad's birthday Missy? Mum couldn't even rant she was that upset. I didn't think you'd cut yourself off from all of us. Vastra stopped me outside the cafe and asked what the hell had gone down because you'd stopped replying to her several months ago. I couldn't tell her and she just nodded, said she'd wait for you to come back again. Are you coming back? I didn't think you'd actually stay away. I didn't mean never come back again, or never speak to anyone again. I didn't mean to make you pick between Clara and everyone. 

Something good has come out of all these sleepless nights, John seems to be starting to trust me again. He asked me out to dinner and has promised to arrange a sitter for Clara. Our mum or his, depending on availability. I feel like we're getting back to who we were, or who we are I guess. Parents to Clara. Partners in parenthood. Crime seems a bit like bad parenting after all. Although things are getting awfully repetivitve Missy. 

I miss you.  
River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't had wifi, and also I am running out of things already written to post and time to do more writing has been scarce.


	16. Gordie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which people are suprised by how uncomfortable Missy is with a baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I've not been up for much writing the last few days, so this is just a bit of family time really. I'm working on the prompts received in the last few chapters and hopefully will be back on a roll...

"I didn't think you were scared of anything, but I swear to god you look terrifed of my baby!" Kate exclaimed, settling back against the sofa with a cup of tea, grinning at the uncomfortable sight before her. "He's a baby, Aunt Missy, I swear he isn't going to eat you."

"I don't like babies all that much," Missy reminded them, wrinkling her nose and balancing the baby in mid-air in front of her. She looked like she was holding a live bomb, and far from comfortable. Gordie, for his part, was staring at Missy in equal parts fascination and fear. John sighed, reaching forward and taking the baby from her. They were fairly certain she'd never looked so relieved. "I'm far less likely to break them once they're walking and talking."

Clara, for the first time since finding out about her maternity, began to understand how Missy might have felt all those years ago. Seeing her mum with a baby was so unnatural. It had never occurred to her before that she'd never seen her mother holding a baby, not once. It wasn't unexpected. Gordie was the first of the next generation after all, but her mother didn't coo over infants if they were bought into her vicinity. 

Kate looked a little disgruntled that Missy wasn't falling to pieces over Gordie like all the other adults had. She sipped her tea and smirked, but she still looked put out. Gordie was still small and adorable, and it was supposed to go that people adored him. Missy still looked like she'd sat on a pine cone, even with John holding the baby. Her eyes were very clearly warning him not to get ideas. 

"Do you think it'll be different when it's your grandkids?" Amy asked curiously, sipping her tea and glancing at Clara. Skye was out in the garden, still of an age where she believed if she talked politely enough, the birds would answer back. Noone would be associating Skye with children for years to come. But Clara wasn't a kid anymore, and they were all disgruntled about facing that. Especially since she'd started dating Danny Pink (a very recent change, for crying out loud. It wasn't like they had plans beyond the next week). 

"I didn't feel any more comfortable when it was my own baby," Missy reminded her, grimacing apoogetically at Clara who just shrugged an acknowledgement, "I don't know how I'll feel when one of the girls deposits a child in my arms. I just ... find it easier when they're old enough to talk and tell me what they want. Or don't want. That's all."

Clara couldn't imagine herself with a baby either. If she ever pictured children (which was rare, she had things to do first) they tended to be older, running around and causing chaos. But she'd always imagined that she'd feel differently when it was her own. Her mum was starting to make her doubt that certainty. But, unlike her mum, she was fairly certain that if she did end up with a baby, she would just grin and bear it until it was old enough to be interesting. Or not. It wasn't like babies would be happening for many, many years to come. 

"Your turn, Clara," Her dad startled her out of her considerations by leaning sideways to deposit a mound of baby gently into her arms. Clara's eyes widened in shock, sat frozen with a baby in her arms. What was she supposed to do with it? How was she supposed to hold it? Holy crap, what if she _dropped_ it?

All these thoughts must have played out on her face because Kate snorted and Amy straight up laughed. Her dad just sighed, and leant forward gently moving her hands into the correct position so Gordie was nestled in her arms.

"And now you relax," he reminded her, rolling his eyes but sitting back nevertheless having done all he could. "Seriously Clara, I'm not letting you be terrified of babies as well."

"Must be genetic," Missy muttered into her coffee, "Fear of humans smaller than one foot."

"Technically he had two feet," Kate grinned, "With ten tiny toes on them."

Clara glanced at Gordie's chubby little hands, and was impressed with the amount of detail on his fingernails. How did nature make things that small?

"I checked when Clara was born," Missy admitted a little nostalgically. "Baby got plopped in my arms, I didn't know what in the world I was supposed to do with her so I …checked she was okay I guess. Ten fingers, ten toes, little tiny scrunched up face. The most impressive head of dark hair. Honestly. I was impressed. She had loads of it! River was giving her little topknots before she was a week old."

Missy very very rarely did anything close to reminiscing about what Clara was like as a newborn, or when she was pregnant and they all looked at her in suprise. 

"Of course," Missy continued, "Then she started screaming and didn't stop for as long as I was holding her."

"She did that with me too," John added frowning, "But I guess she got used to me eventually."

"Eh," Clara pretended to consider it for a second and he made his unimpressed adult face at her. 

"According to River's letters, Clara was fascinated by you the second she saw your eyebrows," Missy corrected him. John and Clara looked at her in suprise. She'd never mentioned any letters before. 

"What letters?" Amy asked for them, curiosity piqued. 

Missy frowned and looked at all of their confused faces.

"River's letters," She repeated, "River left them with you and dad for me when I came back to yours after the funeral. When she sent John and Clara to yours as well so that we'd have to talk. Those letters."

"That box had letters in?" Amy asked in suprise. "Hang on, when did you even get those? I completely forgot about them what with the Clara and John bombshell."

"You knew then?" Clara asked, "Ok, Kate he's lovely but can someone take Gordie off of me now?"

Amy leant forward and pulled the baby expertly onto her own lap. 

"Oh yes, you were far too young to understand what was going on," Amy answered, before turning her attention back to her daughter. "When did you get those letters?"

"Dad gave them to me after River's birthday party. He said he'd forgotten about the package until he was in the office and found it. It turns out River wrote to me like a diary, mostly about Clara and John over the years. Things like how Clara wouldn't accept a bottle off of John because she was fascinated by his face. I think she used them as a chance to talk about our secret, because she couldn't tell anyone else," Missy looked into her empty cup, examining the remaining granules of coffee littering the bottom. "I hadn't even realised no-one else would know about them. They're ridiculously sentimental of course. There were tears on the page the first time you called her mama Clara."

Clara wanted to ask if she could read them, but she wasn't sure whether she had any right to them, any right to the mum she barely remembered. She rolled her mug in her hands, not wanting to ask but desperately curious to know what River, her mum for the first seven and a half years of her lie, had to say. 

"I always wondered why you'd never asked to read them," her mum mused absently. "I'll pull them out when we get home if either of you want."

Clara looked up, startled. Sometimes she really wondered if mum had magic mind reading powers. 

"No thanks," dad muttered, "I don't want to see what River was thinking. It takes the fun out of our marriage. You'll veto any where River is a bit too…. River before you give them to Clara won't you?"

Clara wondered what 'River being too River' meant, and she was smiling by the time her mum refused point blank to censor her sister's words, and for her dad to stop being so egotistical, River had't written about sex with him more than in passing. Besides, she'd continued, it wasn't like Clara hadn't heard about sex before. 

"I'd like to read them," Clara confessed, interrupting her parents customary stare-off. "I hardly remember her. And I feel like I only know her through what you two tell me… I'd like to hear her voice again."

Missy nodded firmly, and that was that. Clara would have the box by teatime. 

Gordie let out a reedy wail of displeasure, and Kate startled forward to hook him up to her milk machine, grumbling about gums and threatning to move him onto a bottle before he was a month old.


	17. Sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy and John after Oxford holiday when they start sharing a room by marla_black

The journey back had been bearable only because Offspring had fallen asleep by Witney, and stayed asleep the rest of the journey. After her hyperactive afternoon, it was no suprise really. 

"The best bit of parenting," John sighed happily, resting his head back against the headrest. "When they sleep."

Missy knew he didn't mean it, he loved being a parent. It was like he was made for it. But Missy understood the sentiment that afternoon. Clara had loved Oxford, and she had loved being on holiday, and she had been delighted by all manner of completely ordinary things. The lift in the hotel had been a huge hit, despite being Clara being eight years old. And she had spent a full ten minutes after dinner their first night staring in wonder at the waterfall shower. 

Oh to be that young and innocent again. 

Not that Missy thought she'd ever been that young and innocent. They'd had to be cynical to survive. It was nice seeing Clara be the kid they had never really been. 

"If we're lucky," John continued softly, carefully turning the radio on. "She'll sleep till we're home."

"You call that lucky?" Missy snorted. "It's barely four, she'll be a nightmare to get back into bed." 

John just smiled his infuriating "I know more than you smile" and Missy gave up with a fond shake of her head. They settled into the relatively short journey peacefully, Missy offering commentary whenever John looked like he might go cross-country just to break up the monotony of the A40. 

Clara woke up, bleary and heavy-limbed, just as they were arriving back into the village, perking up considerably when she stumbled out of the car and dashing up the driveway. Missy couldn't work out how she had been so excited to not be at home, and was now hopping from one foot to the other pleading with John to hurry up and open the door. 

Suddenly, her face took a slightly stricken turn, and her hopping turned a little more intense. 

"I need a wee!" She announced suddenly, and Missy took the keys out of John's pocket while he colelcted bags to provide her child with easier access to the lavatory. Clara dashed off, and left her mother shaking her head in bemusement on the doorstep. 

"Helping is not a spectator sport you know," John called from the boot of her car. Missy rolled her eyes. There were barely three bags. Well… three bags and all of his conference stuff, which admittedly he would be unlikely to shift himself. Missy backtracked to help. 

"You call the parents, I'll call the takeaway, and we can probably get a load of laundry on while we wait for the chinese to arrive," John ordered with the air of someone who had been on weekends away where the priority was getting things shipshape in time for a chaotic school morning. Missy dumped the bags, reaching for her phone. 

"Why do we need to call our mothers again?" She half complained as the phone dialled. "We're forty-odd."

John shrugged, and Missy surmised it was one of those little traditions that had started after she had left. Always nice to stumble across one of those. 

Later, when Clara had gone down with little more fuss than usual, despite her unplanned nap, Missy moved upstairs to hang her clean laundry back into her wardrobe in the spare bedroom. Although, calling it a spare felt a little redundant at this point, as it was quite clearly lived in. Her overalls were draped over the back of a chair, the rest of her wardrobe hung in neat colour coordinated sections. 

She felt, rather than head or saw John in the doorway as she was putting the clean bedding on her bed.

"I'm going to get you a collar with a bell on it," She told him conversationally, not looking at him as she shook out the duvet above her head. Being short had it's downsides. She would have to throw the quilt onto the bed to make sure the cover was on correctly, and then shake it out again. 

She was slightly suprised when John took the duvet and cover off of her, holding it high enough for her to adjust the duvet in the cover with ease, shakig it out before they both laid it across the bed. John was frowning at the purple geometric pattern as Missy buttoned the bottom up. His lips were pursed, and he looked like he was straining not to say something.

"I quite like the pattern," Missy admoished before he could say anything, running a hand over the print. "And it's a lovely thread count. Much better than that stuff you have on your bed."

He observed the bedding thoughtfully for a moment, his mind clearly whirring behind the eyebrows. Then, he nodded firmly, leaned forward and pulled the duvet and pillows into his arms in a scrambled heap, lifting them off the bed.

"Hey!" Missy protested, trailing after him as he shuffled out of the door, picking up the cushion from where it had fallen. "What do you think you're doing man!"

"Moving you into my room," he said simply, crossing into his bedroom and depositing her bedding on the floor, leaning over his bed to throw his own bedding to the floor in a haphazard pile. "There is absolutely no point in you staying in the spare room, we both know it. So. You like your bedding, I like my bed. There we are. Can you get he corner of the sheet for me?"

Missy stared at him, slightly gobsmacked. They had two speeds - nonexistent and hyperspace. He looked back at her, eyebrows raised in a silent question of approval. She barked out a laugh, and his shoulders visibly relaxed. They clearly weren't going to talk about it. 

Besides, she had quite liked sharing with him the last few days. She'd slept easier than she had in years. They'd shared so frequently at university and in the years afterwards that it felt like slipping into a pair of favoured slippers. There really was no point in her making up the spare room when they both knew one of them would have moved by midnight. 

She turned around and left. She saw John frown in resignation, but a smile quirk his lips when she returned moments later with her own, far superior, purple bottom sheet. She threw him a corner and smiled. 

In the morning, Clara clambered up the bed, wedged herself firmly between her parents and fell back to sleep again in moments. 

Some things really were as simple as that.


	18. Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy and River in Glasgow: 5-6 months pregnant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has posted a comment on this fic or smashed a kudos - I apologise for being terrible at thanking you

"I thought you didn't like coffee anymore," River remarked, gliding into the room despite her laden arms. Missy glared at her from her position on the sofa. They both knew she wasn't getting up without help, not since her stomach had become rock hard and completely inflexible. It had only gotten worse as the spawn grew, pushing her stomach out millimeter by millimeter. 

"I decided I like it again," Missy snarked back, taking a long gulp of the hot liquid to prove her point. It was true. She suddenly found that the thought of drinking coffee didn't want to make her heave into the nearest round lookin object and was determined to make the most of it before her stomach decided to betray her again. River smirked, sinking into the opposite chair and arranging her books and notebooks on the coffee table. 

They sat there in near companionable silence, River going through her paperwork on the dig site, Missy near enough worshipping her first cup of coffee in bloody months. Missy was rolling the empty porcalain between her hands, frowning at the ugly shirt she'd somehow managed to pull over her stomach when she realised that River hadn't turned the page in a while. Longer than she would usually be staring at a page. 

River was staring absently at Missy's stomach, her pen resting neglected against the paper of her notebook. She had a habit of doing that. The larger Missy's stomach got, the more her sister would seem to slip into a liminal space between realities. It made Missy feel like she was on display in a museum or freakshow, even though she knew her sister wasn't really _seeing_ her. 

"Your paperwork isn't going to do itself Gravedigger," Missy prompted shortly, starting the labour intensive process of getting up. She missed how flexible she used to be. Oh, to bend down and pick a dropped shirt off the floor without engaging in contortions and ending up out of breath. Oh to be able to put her own bloody shoes on. 

River startled, but didn't turn back to her work as she usually did. She just started frowning instead and Missy had a sinkin feeling she knew where her sister's mind had lead. River hated that she was keeping this a secret. Oh, she loved secrets like she loved jelly tots, but not this. This was apparently a step too far for her sister's roulette wheel of morality. 

"No," She pre-empted with a huff, pointing the empty mug at River. River rolled her eyes, closing her book and pursing her lips: the very picture of frustration. 

"Mum and dad at least," River bargined, reaching an elbow up to steady Missy. Another thing Missy missed was balance. The Parasite seemed to have changed the way her body responded to gravity. "They should know."

"And then what?" Missy challenged. They both knew that if their parents knew, they would not be able to keep it a secret. "Do you really think they'd let me leave?"

River pressed her lips together tightly, her jaw clearly clenching as she attempted to regain control of a rapidly spiralling temper. 

"It's not right," She said finally, firmly. "They deserve to know."

"They will know about the baby," Missy reminded her, waddling (the indignity) out of the room. "When you take it back."

Frustration bubbled in her chest near constantly. River had been cosseting her, soothing her, reminding her constantly what was and wasn't good according to latest medical research. She had been there holding her hair back every bout of morning sickness, had accompanied her to appoinments with the doctor and the midwife. But through all of the supportiveness, she'd barely hidden her disatisfaction with the situation. She understood Missy's need to keep it secret, but she didn't argue. Usually. 

Missy washed the mug up, leaving it behind the kettle for the next rare occassion she was allowed coffee by the Parasite and she wanted to cry. 

She wanted to cry because she was terrified. She was terrified of how alien her body and her reactions felt to her. She was absolutely terrified that her life wouldn't be hers anymore, that if people knew they would tie her life to a squalling infant. She was terrified of the way she caught herself staring into space, absently soothing her stomach, or talking out loud when she was alone because it seemed to make the baby stop turning somersaults. 

She wanted to cry because she was angry. She was angry that it was her carrying the baby her sister dreamt of at night, while her dreams were screaming nightmares. She was angry that she'd already had to put her life on hold to give grow and birth something that she was scared would destroy her

She wanted to cry because she was frustrated. Frustrated with the way her life had been restricted to the inches around her waist, how her whole body had changed to accomodate the Parasite and how difficult everyday life seemed to be. She hated how other women thought they had a right to her body, to approach her in the shops and start a cooing mess of a converation. 

She wanted to cry because River was right. She didn't want to keep this pregnancy a secret, to ask River to lie. But she was more scared of other people seeing her vulnerable, of other people thinking they had a right to decide what happened in her life. She was scared that she would be convinced to stay, and in staying would doom her own child and herself to an unhappy existence. 

But there was a part of her that wanted John to distract her from the pain in her ankles by grumbling about politics or what happened at the shop. She wanted her dad to cook because god knew she and River had never quite developed a knack for anything other than cooking to survive (if you could call her cooking survivable). She wanted her mum to read aloud from her latest work in progress. 

Missy shook herself firmly. She had shut those possibilites out of her life months ago. She and John were more likely to spew hate at each other than comforting bickering if nothing else. She started, looking down to see her hand resting on the top of her bump, where it always seemed to find purchase these days. Her cheeks were wet. Again. 

"I'm sorry," River said behind her, and Missy started. She hadn't heard her enter their tiny kitchen. She turned around, River had tucked her hands into her jacket pocket and was avoiding her eyes. "I know you don't want to and I know why. I can't say I agree with it but… I didn't mean to make you cry."

Missy sniffed, clearing the tears away briskly. 

"Don't flatter yourself," She choked, "I cried over a advert on the radio earlier."

River smiled a lopsided smile. 

"For the record, I think you're wrong," She said gently.

"For the record, I know," Missy replied, and accepted the gentle hug River was offering, feeling her shoulders relax slightly. 

For all she was scared, she knew River was too. She was scared that Missy would change her mind, snatch this chance at true motherhood from her fingers. She was scared of losing that hope. But she was also supportive. If Missy decided tomorrow she wanted to keep the baby, couldn't bear parting with it, River would support her there, as she had supported her so completely so far. 

In fact, Missy almost suspected River was expecting this change to happen at some. Was expecting her to decide to keep a babe in arms. 

Missy burrowed her face deeper in River's shoulder, and tried to stop being quite so emotional. It didn't work.


	19. Antagonist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a prompt I recieved way back on Chapter 1 I think, about a conversation between Missy and John in the interim between Missy finding out she is pregnant and moving to Glasgow. Originally, I couldn't work out a way of orchestrating such a conversation and it still be in keeping with the argument/first meeting in ACP. Which is why it took so long to come into being. 
> 
> So, Missy has some loose ends to tie up in Gallifrey, and she's pissed off some deity because she runs into John while her morning sickness takes a breather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of swearing in this - it's 12 meets Malcom Tucker

He wasn't meant to be there. He wasn't meant to know she'd even passed through. She felt her stomach churning, the parasite making itself known despite how little she had eaten in a vain attempt to keep the sickness at bay. 

She'd only come back to sign some paperwork on her flat. She shouldn't have had the uncharacteristic wave of nostalgia mingling with the nausea that made her divert her car out through the trees to their old hideaway. She shouldn't have gotten out and walked through the clearing, her head tilted towards the sky, smelling the clean air and feeling her stomach settle for the first time in days. 

Barely weeks pregnant and the Parasite was being a right pin in the machinery. 

He wasn't meant to be walking through, right at that moment when she was too far from her car to make an (undignified) exit. She hadn't known what to do. One minute, she was alone. The next, John was there, staring at her with his mouth open and his eyes flinty. 

Nine weeks since she'd seen him, sleep tousled and still frowning in sleep on the floor next to her. They'd been arguing. She could barely remember what about. She could remember the energy in the room, the dangerous fizzing as they'd hurled insults at each other. 

She could remember them stepping into each others personal space, as they had done so many times before, chests vibrating with anger. 

Then she'd done something she'd not done before: she stopped thinking. She couldn't say who kissed who, only that one minute they were spitting viterol at each other and the next mouths were clashing, teeth were biting, hands were roaming. 

They'd exchanged one form of fighting for a more… physical form. Words over, just angry actions. She'd had bruises on her hips for days, and she knew he'd had scratches down his back. 

She hadn't seen him since that night. And he was extremely not happy about seeing her now. Her stomach squirmed.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He spat, storming forwards. "Where the fucking hell have you been?"

"Not that it's any of your business," Missy snarked back, her hackles rising almost instantly. "But I came back to collect some things. I'll be off to New York next week. Didn't want to leave any loose ends."

She wasn't going to New York, not yet. But he didn't need to know that. River had told her they'd argued about her dig in Glasgow, and he didn't need to know that she was going as well. He barked an incredulous, derisive laugh. 

"Loose ends? Is that all we are to you?" He asked in disbelief, "This town is your home, your family. What the fuck? You're just planning on leaving a note and fucking off?"

"Can't imagine it would do any harm," Missy turned to leave, taking a deep breath of leafy air in a vain attempt to tell her stomach to quiet the fuck down, didn't it know they were undercover as a non-pregnant lady?

"Fuck you," John spat, moving in front of her. 

"You already did," She replied before her brain could connect to her words. Shit. She hadn't meant to rile him up as badly as that phrase inevitably would. What was it about her age, this man and brain not doing the thinky thing? She'd never found him particularly attractive before - he was just John. Now her brain was shortciruiting left, right and bloody centre. 

She was right. He went from pissed to downright livid. 

"Forgive me for thinking it meant more than it did," he replied shortly, "For thinking, when I woke up, that we'd be ok."

"We weren't ok before that," Missy reminded him with a snarl, "Sex wasn't going to magically fix everything."

John couldn't even answer, his face turning purple.

"Talking may have," he argued loudly, "But, oh no, heaven forbid you talk to people about things! You just go around making decisions and expecting people to be ok with them. Well we weren't ok with them! We still aren't! I can't believe you wouldn't even talk to me about what you were doing what you were planning for fuck's sake!"

"You don't get to tell me how to live my life," She shouted at him, waving her arms expansively. "You have no right to any part of me, no matter what we've done. My life. My choices."

Her hair fell across her face and they were standing chest to heaving chest as they had been _that night_ and she could feel herself reacting to him again, leaning into him. And his eyes were shards of ice in a way that she'd never seen before. 

She stepped back. For the first time in her life, she stepped back first. He didn't say anything. She turned and started her way back across the clearing. 

"You were my best friend," he said quietly, but his voice carried through the clearing. "I never claimed to have a right, I was just foolish enough to think that you were my friend too." 

Missy paused, taking a steadying breath before moving forwards, forcing her feet one in front of the other. She had to leave, for both of their sakes. They were toxic waste and both deserved better. 

She turned back when she reached the car, but he was already walking away. 

She tamped down her anger, climbed into the car, and drove about ten minutes before she had to climb out and hurl her morning cup of tea into a hedge. 

Fucking John. Fucking parasite.


	20. Cry (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River is out for the evening, leaving Missy and a days old Clara to cry together and wonder when she is coming back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tested a bit of split perspective here, so there's an insight into River's thinking as well.

**Part 1 (Missy)**

"What do you want?" Missy pleaded, rocking her screaming child with her whole body. When River did the same, Clara quietened right down, but Missy swore she just screamed even louder. Tears were burning Missy's cheeks. 

"You aren't hungry, because I tried to feed you," she continued, "You don't need a nappy change, and River is out so please, please _please_ stop crying! I know you don't want to be stuck with me, I'm just the woman that birthed you after all, but River is out and I just need you to stop crying!"

Missy stopped rocking, her stomach muscles still protesting too much movement, sore as they were. The Spawn didn't let up its banshee wailing. 

One night, River had gone out for one sodding night, and Missy couldn't even get her spawn to stop crying. She was starting to get genuinely concerned that Clara was hurt, or would hurt herself from all the crying. 

Missy sat down on the sofa, leaning back and resting the infant against her chest. Again, it seemed to work for River. But to no avail. 

"Please," Missy sniffed quietly, "You'll hurt yourself if you keep this up."

And that would make her an even worse mother than she already was. Days in, and she still barely wanted to touch Clara for fear of breaking her. She was more fragile than glass. Missy had never realised that the pregnancy was the easy bit - well, she had known, that was why she had suggested this arrangement to River in the first place. 

But River hadn't taken the baby off Missy's hands as she'd expected. River would coo and calm and feed and wipe her ass, but she still insisted on handing Clara back to her, back to "mummy" like it would stir something other than fear in Missy's heart. 

She wasn't cut out to be someone's mummy. She couldn't even work out what Clara wanted, why she was screaming, why she was red-faced and exhausted from the exertion. And Missy didn't feel much better. She was run ragged from trying to force instincts that did not come naturally to her. River still looked so effortless, but every noise the Parasite made set Missy's teeth on egde, her nerves jangling. 

She'd expected River to take the baby and be fiercer than a dragon over it. But she hadn't. She didn't understand her sister. Wasn't a baby what River had wanted? 

The spawn paused in her screaming, and Missy held her breath, hoping she'd cried herself to sleep, but it had just paused for breath it seemed. Missy twisted her head to look at the thing she'd laboured over and saw only a scrunched up, pained red face. 

"What do you want?" She asked helplessly, soothing the infants back as gently as she could and throwing her head back against the sofa, eyes closed. Tears pricked the corner of her eyelids, sliding down burning cheeks and she didn't bother to brush them away. "What do you want from me?"

**Part 2 (River)**

River had hoped that by leaving her sister with her newborn, they would reach an accord. That is, Missy would stop being so tense that Clara cried. She wondered if she should have anticipated finding her sister passed out from exhaustion on the sofa, tears marking her face, Clara's little blanket wrapped body resting securely on her chest. 

They had both cried themselves to sleep. River felt her heart tug painfully at the sight. She knew Missy didn't want to be a mother on a cerebral level, but River had watched her sister throughout the pregnancy, when Missy didn't know she was being watched. She seemed to want her baby, but was so afraid it was getting in the way. 

She set her bag down carefully, leaning forward slightly to visually check Clara. The little girl looked peaceful now, her face pressed up against Missy's bare shoulder where her oversized shirt had slipped down. If Missy could calm down, River was sure she would realise how easy Clara rested. 

It didn't come naturally to Missy, River could see that, anyone with eyes could. She was scared of breaking Clara, as if babies were't resilient enough to survive. She held Clara like she was a bomb waiting to go off, or that she might squirm free and attack her at any moment. Even now, in sleep, as Clara looked so comfortable, Missy looked anything but. Her cheeks were flushed from her own tears, her brow furrowed, jaw clenched. She was still scared of breaking Clara. 

Her eyes watered, for her sister's discomfort, for Clara's opportunity to be with her mother slipping away. She knew that Missy would insist on carrying on with her plan, for all she'd hoped that Clara arriving would set Missy's mind at ease. She'd never truly expected Missy to give her baby up, not really. But now she knew it would happen as Missy had told her. 

Missy would hand Clara over, and then she'd go to America. She would probably come back in a year or two, find out that Clara wasn't quite so breakable. 

River knew her sister had the greatest capacity for love that she only chose a select few for. Clara would be lucky to have Missy as her mum, as River had been the luckies girl in the group home when Missy sidled into a wardrobe and presented her with a match. There and then, River decided that she would make sure that Missy was in Clara's life, that Clara would have the opportunity to be loved so unconditionally despite all appearances to the contrary. 

Clara would know. 

But in the meantime, River wiped the corners of her eyes, looking up to the ceiling to dispel the last few tears before reaching over to gently wake her sister and retrieve Clara before she started crying again.


	21. Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missy comforts a newly-fostered Skye in the middle of the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its been a while. I am working on the prompts from previous chapters but finding time is difficult

She hadn't been sleeping. It had been one of those days where everything seems to be a deck stacked against you, where poker chips fall and your opponent cashes out. She was exaggerating, it hadn't been that bad. It had just been a long day, and she felt a childish desire to wake John up just so she wasn't awake on her own. Well… not really childish, she half hoped they'd be able to expel enough of her excess energy that she'd go to sleep. 

It was because she was awake and contemplating the ceiling moodily that she even heard it: the soft gulping of someone trying very hard not to cry and if they must cry, to cry silently. Missy glanced at the clock and frowned. Two am. If it were Clara, they'd already have the pre-teen pushing their door open. For all she was a grown up during the day, Clara was a child at night. 

She pushed back the duvet, shivering against the chill of the winter night and wrapped her dressing gown around her as she treaded softly across the hall. Her heart clunked. 

Skye was attempting to drag the duvet cover off the duvet, the sheet exposed on the bed, a dark patch clear despite the half light. But more than that, in the middle of it all, Skye was gulping as tears flowed freely down her face in embarrassment. Worse than all of the above, when Skye caught sight of her foster-mother in the doorway, she skittered back a full foot, crushing herself against the bedframe. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she gasped, repeating the apology continuously and fighting for control of her breathing. Missy sunk to the floor slowly, "I'll clean it, I promise, I'm sorry!"

She was sinking into desperation. Missy held out a hand across the space between them, shushing her as soothingly as she could, though she didn't think she was being very effective. She would not, however much she wanted to gather the little girl up and promise her everything would be ok, cross the line into Skye's room until she was invited. Her jaw clenched, and she had a split-second thought of finding this girls mother and demanding to know just what she had done to have Skye so scared of something as relatively normal as wetting the bed. 

"It's ok Poppet," Missy said soothingly, reassuringly, "It's just an accident. I'll clean it up, and clean you up and we'll get you back into bed in a jiffy. All I need you to do right now is to take a deep breath, like this:"

She demonstrated. Skye's eyes slid into focus a little more, no longer hyperfocusing on everything in her vicinity. She took a shuddering breath. And then another. 

"That's it," Missy encouraged, exaggerating her breathing for a few more beats until Skye had stopped trembling quite so much. "There we are, hello Skye."

"Missy?" The curled up mess of bodily fluid and girl asked hesitantly, as if she couldn't quite understand what her eyes and ears were telling her. 

"That's right Poppet," Missy smiled into the darkness. Skye relaxed a little more, glancing around her room, and then back at the soiled bedding, tensing as soon as she remembered all over again what she had done. "Skye, it's ok. It was just an accident. We'll get it cleaned up."

Skye stared at the bedding for a moment, before dragging her eyes up to Missy. She frowned when she realised that Missy was still in the doorway. 

"Oh," she realised, "Please come in."

Missy waited for a moment, before easing her old bones into a more comfortable position just inside the doorway. 

"Thank you," she said. They had been ensuring that Skye knew she was in control of her own boundaries and personal space. They had realised quickly that the little girl hadn't a clue whether people were going to hurt her or not, so the rules helped her learn to trust them. "Now, first things first Little One: are you ok? Are you hurt?"

Skye looked confused for a second, glancing down at her thin arms before nodding slowly. She probably hadn't been asked if she was ok before she'd come to them. Missy wanted to slap her mother silly. 

"Alright then," Missy pressed on, trying to avoid wrinkling her nose at the urine smell from the sheets. "Why don't we get these into the bathtub for a rinse, and then we can put you in the shower and make you all fresh as a daisy again. How about that?"

Skye nodded, and stood up, grasping at the ragged and faded rabbit she had a tendancy to wring the neck of. Missy followed at a slightly more creaky pace. Missy made short work of stripping the bed while Skye selected a new nightgown and led an eerily silent Skye to the bathroom. 

In the months they had Skye, she had revealed herself to be a chatterbox rivalling Clara herself. This fearful silence reminded Missy of the early days. 

Missy dumped the sheets into the tub with an exaggerated sigh, pleased to see the corners of Skye's lips tick up slightly. Missy turned the shower on to a temperature she knew Skye wouldn't find too hot. 

"Right, pass me that nightie and then in you hop," Missy held her hand out for the soiled garment, throwing it all into the bathtub while Skye slipped into the shower. 

Moments later, the bathtub filled with water and the sheets left to soak, Missy wrapped Skye up in a blanket tightly and asking her gently if she would like a hug. Skye contemplated for a moment, and then shook her head. Missy instantly took a step away, settling down with the new nightie ready to go over her head. 

"Skye," She said gently, once the girl was dressed again and new bedding had been added. "It's ok if you wet the bed, I want you to know that, ok? If this happens again, or anything else, you can come and wake me up. Or John, he won't mind. We'll get you cleaned up and ready to go back to bed. You don't need to do it yourself."

Skye looked unconvinced, even as Missy folded back the covers for her to climb back into bed. She clambered up hestitantly, twisting the ears of the poor rabbit, eyes bigger than saucers. 

"I mean it," Missy continued gently, pulling the covers up around the girl and then sitting back to give Skye her space. "I know it's a bit scary, but you can wake any of us up. If it makes you feel better, I'm sure Clara wouldn't mind you waking her up so she can come get us. It's just an accident. And if you want to talk to us about nightmares, you can."

Skye's little forehead creased as she contemplated all of these words, words that seemed absurdly foreign to her. Missy could remember how that felt. She and the other children at the Home had been good at hiding accidents for fear of recrimination, and she never wanted her girls to feel like that. Her girls. It had been plural for quite a while now. 

Slowly, Skye nodded, chewing on her lip and probably likely to try and hide the evidence the next time this happened. It would be a slow process of overriding her instincts. 

"Now, are you ok?" Missy asked again, pulling the blanket over the quilt. 

Skye nodded, significantly more confidently than she had when Missy had asked earlier. 

"Ok then Poppet," Missy stood up and held a hand out. Skye took it instantly and gripped it tightly. "Good night Skye."

"Night Missy," Skye replied softly, lying down in bed. Missy went to turn the light off, but Skye sat up again quickly. 

"How about this?" Missy turned the desk lamp on, casting a significantly more muted light against the wall. "And I'll leave the door open?"

Skye nodded, settling back down again slowly, her eyes fixed on Missy's retreating figure.

"Night Missy," She said, already halfway asleep again. Missy waited by the doorway until she could hear Skye's breathing even out, checked on Clara and then returned to her now cold bed. 

"W'erev you been?" John slurred, more asleep than awake, rolling into her side as soon as she slipped back under the covers. 

"Skye needed me," She said simply, snuggling down and finding that sleep was finally a possibility.


	22. Before: Missy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scrap of paper in her pocket said "Michelle Oakdean".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone a few chapters ago suggested a glimpse of how Missy, John and River ended up at the Group home together. 
> 
> It's been a long time coming, because I've not been well and job searching and I haven't written much as all in the last few months, but here's the first part of Before.

The most notable thing about the scrawny toddler in front of her was the eyes. They were big, and they were the most vibrant shade of blue that Vicky had ever seen. And they looked far older than her narrow face would suggest. It broke Vicky's heart to see. This little girl had seen the worst that life had to offer, and you could see it in her eyes. 

Little Michelle Oakdean hadn't spoken a word since Vicky had arrived at the Doctor's surgery. She was in clothes both too big and too small for her, worn thin and grubby and hanging from her bony frame. The nurse had catalogued everything about the little girl, relating iron deficiencies and bow legs and lower than normal weight. It was easy to see. The little girls shoulder blades jutted out from her bare back like the misformed wings of a baby bird. Her hair was tangled back into a plait, like it had been done a week before and not touched since except in sleep. 

But really, it was the eyes that made Vicky't heart hurt. She had been a social worker for almost a decade. She thought she'd seen it all. But the pits were closing and children in her corner of Northern England were suffering like she hadn't seen, and her older colleagues were recalling days following the war, before the NHS and the introduction of abortions in the 60's. She saw all manner of children starving, abused, neglected. But this was her first abandonment case. They only knew the girls name because it was scrawled on a piece of scrap paper and shoved into her pocket. At least. They assumed it was her name. The girl had only blinked when they had addressed her as Michelle. 

"Where will she go?" The nurse asked quietly, once little Michelle had been re-dressed in second hand clothes, clean and tidy and hollow. She still hadn't said a word. The nurse had given her a rabbit, and it hung limply from her bone-thin arms as she just sat there quietly, waiting. She didn't look wary, or afraid, but resigned. Like she knew this was coming and that it was pointless to fight. 

"She's too young for a group home," Vicky replied just as softly, looking up from the paperwork she had been filling out. "And there aren't any foster situations with space near her. I'll have to drive her to Ayrshire. There's a nought to five there with space for one more. She's waiting for me."

"What will happen to her?" The nurse was middle aged, had seen more than the other trainee who had been sent home to avoid having to be exposed to this. She was realistic, and blunt, and Vicky liked her because she was human. "I'd offer to take her if I could, but it's impossible. Not with my Billy like he is." 

"Well," Vicky paused, wishing she could give better news, but she was realistic as well. She knew the odds for this girl. "Her mother might come back, and if she does, please call me. If she stays abandoned… well, she'll be put forward for adoption. She may find a lovely home with parents who love her. She's young enough that her chances of being adopted are quite good." She tried to sound more optomistic than she truly felt. 

"Poor little Tyke," The nurse sighed, "I'm going to see if I can get her to eat anything before your journey to Scotland. Let me know if you need anything else from me, won't you?"

The first sign of real life that Vicky had seen the girl display was when that nurse said goodbye, quite briskly and clearly trying not to show any emotion so as not to upset the child. She'd started, and looked up, eyes widening in what might have been fear. But then she'd blinked, and gone back to staring passively at something Vicky couldn't see. 

Michelle had gone into the back of Vicky's car without a whisper. She had sat back in the seat and stared out of the window, and did not speak a syllable for the enitre journey. Vicky was starting to wonder if the girl knew how to speak at all. She hated this moment of taking a child away from all they had know. But then, the mother or father or guardian had clearly done that already. 

The little house in a small village in Ayrshire was still lit up when Vicky pulled up, exhausted and desperate for a reprieve from the oppressive silence of the little girl. She climbed out of the back seat without complaint, stood by Vicky's side as she rang the doorbell, and blinked up at the harried woman with a baby on her hip who opened the door. 

There was a boy behind her legs, the same age as Michelle, eyes blue and curious. 

"Hello," Janice said, smiling down at the girl. "You must be Michelle. Would you like to come in?" 

Michelle considered the doorway for a moment before stepping and staring at the boy. He walked over solemnly. He was a little older than Michelle, a good half head taller and 

"Hello," He said seriously, his accent half english, half scots, not long enough in either place for his voice to settle. "I'm John."

Then, to Vicky's suprise, the little girl held out a thin hand, and uttered the first words in almost twelve hours. 

"Michy."

"Missy," John nodded, shaking her hand. "Do you want me to show you our room?"

Little Missy Oakdean nodded and with barely a glance back at Vicky, she followed her new friend out of the room. 

"John's a good sort," Janice huffed the baby to her other hip. "They'll be thick as thieves in no time. Now pet, you've had a rough sort of day. Cup of tea and a bed for the night. We can discuss everything once I've got the bairns to bed."

Vicky hoped, rather than believed that the errant guardian would return for Michelle. Years later, before Michelle was turning five and due to be moved, she recieved a call from another social worker. Janice wasn't letting Michelle and John be seperated and there was a group home in Shropshire that had space for two. Vicky had agreed with a sigh of relief, glad that the silent and resigned little girl had someone, even if it was just for now. Michelle Oakdean was a name she didn't forget, right up until she attended her granddaughter's graduation in Gloucestershire, and read the name of the Chancellor of the University. Michelle Oakdean had beaten the odds and done well after all, if the confident, Scottish woman at the podium was any indication. (Later, her granddaughter informed her that Lady Oakdean, as the students called her, was practically married to Prof Smith with two little girls of their own and she laughed).


	23. Before: The Smiths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Barbara Smith had two children, thirteen years apart.

Eddie and Barbara Smith were perfectly normal and perfectly content with their perfectly normal life filled with office work and teaching. Their daughter, Sarah-Jane was growing up to be a somewhat tenacious teenager with a suprising instinct for finding out information. The teenager was often sent to her Aunt Lavinia's for weekends, wondering if their daughter's talent would result in an academic career like hers. 

As far as they were concerned, life was pretty good. They had a house they loved, careers they enjoyed and a daughter they adored. They were already happy when they found out they were due to have another child, rather unexpectedly. Their evening conversations became worried about how twelve-year old Sarah-Jane would take to a new sibling after so many years as an only child. 

They needn't have worried. While she wasn't overtly fond of his midnight screaming, Sarah-Jane adored her baby brother, named John for Barbara's father. She would sit with the baby propped up beside her while their mother cooked tea, reading aloud whatever schoolwork he had for the day, and sharing theories while he listened with rapt, adoring eyes. 

And that quiet love Sarah-Jane had for her brother was reciprocated. By the time her thirteenth birthday rolled around, little John Smith would be sitting on the bottom step waiting for her to arrive home from school and would toddle after her, lisping an entreaty of "wait for me Sawah!" as he struggled to keep up. And she would wait. She would always wait, patient and happy to pick him up and carry him along when his legs grew too tired. He would fall asleep, his head leaning against Sarah-Jane's arm, as she completed her homework each evening, always just happy to be close to her. 

Eddie and Barbara's happiness was complete. Their children adored each other, and it made even sensible and serious Aunt Lavinia smile to see them, Sarah-Jane always waiting for John as they crossed the garden, or the path, or the room. 

But it wasn't to last. Sarah-Jane was staying with her Aunt Lavinia for the night when they were called to the hospital. Their parents, her beloved, adored parents, had been involved in a car crash on one of the country roads around their house. By some miracle, John had survived, screaming in the back seat with barely a scratch. 

Lavinia had taken them both in without question. She would not seperate the two, not while they were already grieveing so much. Sarah-Jane became quiet, and John quieter, huddling closer to Sarah than ever before and terrified whenever she so much as left his sight. It was a painful, stressful time and Lavinia was exhausted, grieveing her baby brother even as his children mourned their parents. Sarah-Jane would get angry at the slightest thing, shouting at the world that dared take her parents away. 

Lavinia was exhausted, but she wouldn't seperate them. 

And then she had a heart attack. In recovery, she couldn't keep up with John - could barely muster the strength to dress him in the morning, even as Sarah-Jane took on more and more responsiblity, becoming drawn and worn in a way no teenager should ever have to. 

It was the hardest conversation she'd ever had, the one with her lovely Sarah-Jane, but it was a conversation that needed to be had. They couldn't care for John as they were. Sarah had pleaded, cried, called her heartless, begged, told Lavinia that she would take on all of her brother's care herself, that she would be his mother. 

"You are a child, and you are both under my care," Lavinia had sighed, her heart breaking even as she ackowledged the truth of her words, "And I need to look after your wellbeing as well as John's. We can send him to be fostered, not adopted. Just until we can bring him back home."

Sarah-Jane hadn't spoken to her for a week, working twice as hard to prove to her Aunt that they were all John needed in the world. But even the strongest people have their breaking point, and it was absurdly early in the morning some fortnight later when Sarah-Jane knocked on her door in tears, seeking assurance that her baby brother would be returned to them a soon as they were able. That he wouldn't have to spend a long time away from home, that they would be a family. 

Lavinia had agreed. And she had meant it. The social worker came a week or two later, having been on standbye in case it got too much for the recovering and ailing researcher. She assured them that they could visit John every weekend, that it was just a case of having his daily needs taken care of by someone else. He wouldn't be put up for adoption, this was just temporary. 

She hated herself, the moment she saw the realisation dawn on the toddler's face that he wasn't leaving with them. His face going slack in horror before he was banging his fists against the glass door, screaming for Sarah, for Auntie, his face stricken with fear. She'd had to hold onto Sarah, even as the teenager knew they were doing what was best for all three of them, even if it broke their hearts for now. 

It would be some weeks of visits before John didn't scream when they left, when he didn't push them away when they arrived. His foster carer lived in Ayrshire, so Lavinia took a house near the Scottish border, working at a research facility there so they could be close to John. Sarah-Jane visited him every second she could, fiercely determined to make herself a success so that there would never be a question of where John would go again. 

It was only meant to be temporary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working out how River got to the group home, aged five so that one will be a lot later


	24. Working from Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home schooling and zoom meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little ditty for home schooling Clara

"If we can turn back to the matter at hand," Missy said pointedly, looking sternly over her glasses at the camera perched atop her shiny new desktop computer, halting the turn the meeting had taken dangerously towards an argument. "We need to ensure that students have enough financial security and are still able to graduate on time this summer despite everything going on. Now -"

Whatever Missy was about to say was lost in a whirlwind in the shape of Clara, bedecked in glittery tin foil armour, gleefully shouting and waving a wand as if it were a sword, while John (complete with crepe paper dragon horns and streamers) pretended to fall dramatically, moaning that he'd been struck and his princess needed to save him. 

Missy breathed out through her nose and stared into the camera, wondering which member of her call was going to crack first. 

Unsuprisingly, it was Jane. 

"Go on then Princess," she teased, beaming, "Go save your grumpy dragon."

John shot up, staring in horror as the rest of her emergency team began chuckling at the unorthodox introduction. Seven faces hooked back at him, several he knew in Tish Jones and Jane and Donna, but several he didn't know very well at all. 

"Oops," Clara grinned cheekily and waved brightly at the screen. "Aunty Jane! Look what daddy and I made!"

"I think your mum needs a crown," Jane called out "Gold and glittery, dontcha think."

Clara looked amazed for a moment and then tugged her tin foil hat off to consider the proposal properly. John was already trying to regain some of his dignity and chivvy their daughter out of the study. He had tugged half of his headband off, the ears sliding precariously from his fluffy hair, revealing a pair of tiny fairy wings on his back and a fox tail. The snickers on the call started again and Missy couldn't help but smile with them all. God she loved a wonderful man. 

"English and art today," she supplied to the meeting, "and possibly some drama as well."

Clara had, predicatbly, not taken to the lockdown well. John, however, had taken to it relatively easily and spent his evenings coming up with increasingly exciting ways of keeping Clara entertained and educated. It had been fun, but her university level committments had her holed away in the study trying to make sure all her students and staff were safe. 

"Don't suppose you can give us some ideas on how to keep our two from ripping each other's heads off," Donna asked wearily, who had wedged a chair under the door handle and called out to her children twice to stop fighting in the hour long phone call. "Teachers are bloody saints." 

There was a murmur of agreement from all attending. John mumbled a promise to call her later, trying desperately to pull Clara towards the door, away from the computer where she was pulling faces at the screen (Jane was pulling them back, Yaz shaking her head in amusement in the background, 

"I'm so sorry," John muttered. "I thought you didn't have any meetings today."

"Clearly," Missy stopped him from leaving with a hand to his wrist and turned to address the call. "I think I'm needed urgently to save the kingdom, or at least the dragon. If we can reconvene tomorrow at 10am with progression plans for the students on site and at home, with focus on mental health provision then we can discuss next steps. I'll send a highlighted areas document ahead of our call and Tish'll send out the minutes as and when she gets round to them. Cheerio."

She waved and ended the call, and turned to her family. Clara was all dimpled and big innocent eyes. 

"From now on, door closed means I'm busy," she told them pointedly. "We have a whole mansion and a quite frankly enormous garden and you choose my room to play in?"

John shuffled awkwardly. Clara however, grinned brightly. 

"Does that mean you're going to play with us mum?" She held her wand out to her father. "You need to kiss dad so he turns into a handsome prince."

"Magic indeed," Missy said drily, winking at John's disgruntled expression. She stood up quickly, and squinted her eyes at him. He frowned back, daring her to actually do as Clara said when he was embarrassed.

Missy gripped his lapels and pulled him forward, off balancing him to snog him. She heard Clara make a delighted "Eww!" sound somewhere in the background. She waited until Clara's huff turned decidedly pre-teen before pulling away an wiping the corner of her lips. John swayed back, looking dazed. 

She made a point of looking him up and down before sighing dramatically and proclaiming to Clara that it hadn't worked. (Later, when Clara had gone to bed on the other side of the house, Missy reminded him that she didn't need him to turn into a handsome prince because she found him quite sexy just the way he was). Clara had rushed off to develop the next stage of her narrative, weaving the knight-witch and the dragon-prince with the queen-elf. 

The next day, Missy dialled into her meeting wearing a sparkly cardboard crown.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normally, she just goes home...but maybe they can start to move on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt (A long, LONG time ago, I didn't realise I hadn't posted it - sorry)  
'Could you write about how Missy and John reconciles after River’s death? I enter big sad hours thinking about Missy and River in canon so it might break me :,)'
> 
> I hope everyone is staying safe!

"Whiskey?" John asked from the corner of the dim living room, fingers tracing the top of the glass. Missy paused in the process of pulling her jumper on to leave. She normally just left. This was different from their usual routine and she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do. 

It was one of the increasingly common evenings where Missy arrived to work on the car, and ended up staying till it was practically Clara's bedtime. As much as she hated to admit it, the brat was growing on her faster than a fungal infection. It was hard not to feel a little better about the world when Clara was around. She was so effortlessly optimistic. And she acted so much like River that it made Missy's heart hurt in places she had forgotten could hurt. 

This whole coming back thing was wrecking havoc on her reputation. 

But that evening, when John had gone to put Clara to bed, she'd gone back out to the garage to clean up from her latest teaching opportunity with the Offspring. She'd planned on just sneaking out, not wanting to make things more awkward with her, well, baby daddy. 

But now, here he was, offering her whiskey. She hesitated, rolling her jumper round the rest of the way. 

"You sure that's a good idea?" she asked cautiously, and wasn't that new? Being cautious. She wasn't sure what she meant. It wasn't like whiskey was a euphamism or anything. Maybe she just meant that River's absense could still be measured in weeks, even if it were nearing the point they could measure in months. It felt a little too much like picking at a scab and expecting it not to scar. 

"Only if you make it a bad one," John shrugged, swirling the glass in the direction. "We both keep good intentions and it's a good idea." 

Missy raised an eyebrow at him and he huffed. 

"Take the damn glass Missy."

Missy took the glass, stepping closer hesitantly. She used to be confident, she remembered vaguely. John turned on his heel and out into the garden, the spring evening sun slanting across haphazardly cut grass and weed-filled flowerbeds. He needed a gardener. She told him so bluntly. John just nodded vaguely. 

They sat in silence on the matching and rusty patio chairs, sipping their drinks. It wasn't peace, but it was something familiar and it set Missy on edge because it was too calm after everything, too forgiving. John had said he'd forgiven her, yes, but he was still so wary. The shape of River was too large between them. 

"I miss her," Missy said suddenly, into that not-quite-awkward silence, before she'd truly reistered the words forming in her mind. She flinched.

"Me too," John replied after a painful long second. 

Maybe they needed to talk some more. They were both hurting. 

"I stayed away because I thought she didn't want to speak to me, and because I was too stubborn to apologise first," Missy downed her glass and winced as it hit the back of her throat. God she was out of practice.

"She was stubborn too," John sighed, eyes scanning the egde of the garden. "And none of us could have predicted what was going to happen, you know that."

"You're not supposed to be nice to me," Missy reminded him, it felt wrong. Raw. 

"Why not?" He turned to face her now, all earnest eyes and overbearing eyebrows. "What good does it do either of us to dwell on it? I'm tired of being angry Missy, and I'm tired of not having my best friend. And yes, I wish we could have done things differently over the last few years. I damn your pride, and I damn ours too. We could have had time. But we didn't. And River, she was all about looking to the future. For Clara's sake, and ours, we should too."

Missy swallowed a lump in her throat. 

"Ironic really," She found herself saying, "Considering her profession was all about the past."

John scoffed and turned his head back to the garden. 

"I know," he agreed, "Don't know why she wanted to waste her time with all that digging and bones."

It was a familiar refrain, something they'd joined forces to tease River about since she announced her undergraduate degree was developing into a fruitful career. But River wasn't here to make her usual retort about being of use rather than creating imaginary realities and the silence stretched more than a bit too long 

"That's going to take some getting used to," Missy said softly, when the ghost of River remained silent. 

"I don't think we ever will," John agreed. 

This time the silence wasn't quite so awkward. It was an acknowledgement of shared pain and the regrets that sat between them shifted like rocks and started to fall.


	26. Grandpa Brian

The roses had to be bloomed on time. They had to be. Because if they weren't, Brian Williams would have to buy shop bought roses, and he wanted only the best for his new grandchildren. He'd planted the rosebush the day Rory had haltingly admitted that he and Amy had been to visit the children's home that Sarah-Jane had picked her boy up from. 

He listened to Rory and Amy talk that evening of the children they had met. About the sharp scottish girl that had grown up with John, and her curly haired shadow. They hadn't noticed the elder much during the 'soul-less parade of hope' (as Amy has called it in disbelief), but they had been given free reign to wander the garden after the parade, before they had gone back to the counsellors to ask after a few of the children they had noticed. 

"It's such a strange set up, dad," Rory had confessed, emotionally exhausted. "Like shopping for kids. Except the kids know why you're there. There's hardly anything new in that place. I reckon we'd take them all if we could."

Brian knew his son meant every word. They had gone home that night informing him that they had a meeting with the counsellor again in a weeks time, for more details of the children they had asked about. 

The following week, Amy stormed into the house in a fury, ranting about injustice and prejudice and fairness. Rory had explained, when she paused for breath, that they had been told outright that the sharp pre-teen with the protective streak was destined to be trouble. The prospective parents had been told that the little girl with a name like water would grow out of any behavioural difficulties, but that they would be wasting their time with the older one. 

"I want her," Amy declared, furious with them for giving up on the girl before she'd even hit her teens. "I don't care what they say. She needs us. They need us."

They'd noticed the little one first, then seen how she gravitated towards the elder in the garden when they'd been given leave to go back to their games. But now, Amy was determined to have them, if these girls would have them. And so the weekends began, each week ending with Rory phoning his dad up to tell him everything. 

"Missy said that we shouldn't bring them gifts, dad," Rory called in a rage one afternoon, "That the other children will just steal whatever we buy them, and that she keeps her book of Amy's in her locker at school!"

He'd calmed his boy, reminding him that they had been bought up in a world that was different to the security that Rory had experienced. And he waited for each update on his son's children, each week pruning the roses and wondering when they would be allowed to visit. 

Rory and Amy bought pictures and stories, of how much the girls loved books, that Missy had a fire problem but they were aware of it and wanted him to make sure matches were kept somewhere easy to check when she visited. They told him about how River loved getting dirty, but Missy did not. They told him about a dream River had, and an A that Missy got on an English paper. And in every week that passed, from when they first met them, their voices got prouder and prouder. Until the day that Rory spoke of "our girls" and Brian recognised the all encompassing love of a parent in his voice. 

A few weeks later, Amy announced at a joint family dinner that they would be requesting to foster them that very weekend, that the paperwork was almost done. Amy wanted the girls to agree before they signed - she wanted it to be their choice. 

Brian had given the roses the very best of his attention, determined to have corsages to present to his girls when they arrived. He thought they sounded like roses - not delicate, but with a bite. You had to have a bite to survive in a group home. He'd met lanky John Smith (all arms and legs and temper) and extracted enough information to know what sort of exnvironment the girls would be coming from. Then he determined that they would never feel alone again. 

He spoke of them when he went down the pub with the ones from the allotment - of River getting her times tables badge, and Missy building a lego tower taller than she was with a suspension bridge to boot. He was proud of them before he met them. 

And he was meeting them tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would finally meet his grandchildren. He pulled on his boots, picked up his trowel and pruning shears, and took a deep breath before walking down the path. 

On the rose bush, two roses had begun to bloom, twisted together, their pink petals peeling back. Perfect timing. 

He'd done his research, even if the girls wouldn't know. Pink roses for happiness that they were now a part of his family, and always would be. 

Brian Williams was a grandfather the day his son told him they were going to adopt. And when he met his granddaughters, he gave them each a boquet of flowers, with a pink rose set right in the middle and told them he was proud of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Brian is the quiet steadfast adorable and I wanted to do the adoption process from a third party. 
> 
> Sorry for sporadic updates, motivation? What's that?

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think?   
Any situations or converations you want me to include??


End file.
